The Problem With Atonement
by starry19
Summary: "She was starting to wonder if they would ever be able to truly be free of the past. If they would ever stop being afraid of closed doors at the end of hallways or if long-forgotten demons would ever stop being resurrected."
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** Well, here we go. New multi-chapter that I don't have time to write but I really wanted to.

**The Problem With Atonement**

She hadn't slept in something approaching 48 hours.

It wasn't the first time - it wouldn't be the last. During the final days of Red John's reign, she was fairly certain she had been awake for about a week.

But she'd never passed so many hours of wakefulness for a reason like this.

She was exhausted, but as happy as she'd ever been.

_The truth is I love you._

Before now she had only dared to hope at his feelings. Since he came back from South America, she had even started to really suspect what was in his heart, had even dared to call him out on it. _That's all you're gonna say?_

She doubted she would ever forget the second she knew what the next words out of his mouth were going to be.

_I can't imagine waking up knowing I won't see you._

The pause after that sentence had sent her heart into her throat.

_I love you._

_I love you, Teresa, and it makes me happy to be able to say that to you._

She had been turing those words over in her mind since then. _It makes me happy._

Because Jane was not a happy man. True, since he'd strangled Thomas McAllister in a sunny park one day, he had been decidedly different. Lighter, perhaps. But not happy.

Happy men didn't live in Airstream trailers and sleep on couches in the office. They didn't wear the same pair of socks a worrying amount of times.

They didn't continue to wear wedding rings from a marriage that ended abruptly almost fifteen years ago.

Absently, she wondered when the last time someone had held him and meant it, really meant it.

He'd been in her arms a handful of times, but never for more than a few seconds.

When she'd put her hand on his cheek, he'd leaned in to her palm, seemingly unable to help himself.

When he had been gone and she'd been in Washington, she had gone a very long time without someone touching her. Sometimes, it was easy. And, sometimes, it was impossible.

When it had gotten too bad, she'd been able to find a pair of willing arms for the night. She would turn off the lights, squeeze her eyes shut, and do her best to pretend the body above her was someone else.

It had been sad, but better than nothing.

Jane had lived through over a decade of isolation.

She wanted to give it all back to him.

Which explained _why_ she was still awake.

Jane was sprawled on her couch, his head in her lap. He'd been asleep for an hour or so, messy curls soft under her fingers, his weight both thrilling and terrifying.

She couldn't stop touching him.

Earlier, when he had first shifted to lay against her, he'd groaned when she'd run her hands down his back.

"That feels incredible," he'd murmured, eyelashes closing. "For a number of reasons. One of which being I am unused to climbing chain link fences and chasing down planes."

She'd laughed, done it again.

He'd wrapped both his arms around her waist, and she'd breathed in the moment, committing everything to memory.

They hadn't spoken much, both of them content to just _be_. She studied the lines on his face, the golden stubble, the shadows that were visible even now. He looked peaceful, she finally decided, snuggled into her.

It wasn't a surprise to find he'd fallen asleep.

Still, she was touched. Jane had dozed in her presence probably three hundred times, sometimes very close to her. But never _on_ her.

It made him vulnerable in a whole different manner.

She could feel her own exhausting creeping over her, the urge to sleep becoming irresistible. She held off though, trying to give her heart a little time to adjust.

For nearly fifteen years, she'd dreamed about Jane, fantasized about him while both awake and asleep, had realized she'd given her heart to him far too late to do anything about it.

And now he was hers.

Fully. Without reservations.

At least she hoped so.

Frowning, she shifted, his head lolling against her thighs. In all honesty, she had no idea what he saw their relationship as being. She had simply assumed...

A small, cold tendril of fear brushed over her.

She ran her fingertips across his jawline and watched as he smiled in his sleep.

Feeling slightly better, she did it again, then slowly leaned down and pressed her lips gently to his. She'd meant to do it quickly, but his mouth was warm, soft, and before she could stop herself, she'd taken his bottom lip between hers.

She heard a deep intake of breath, then his hand was on her face, his tongue lazily sliding against hers.

A moan sounded low in her throat, and the pressure of his mouth deepened in response.

When she pulled back, neither of them were breathing right. His eyes were bright, amused. "Well, that's easily my new favorite way of being woken up."

She smiled. "And I'd say it's my new favorite way of waking you up, but I have to admit I'm partial to just kicking the couch."

He twined a lock of her hair around his finger. "I bet I can change your mind."

She'd never heard that tone of voice from him before, all sensual promises and heat. Warmth flooded her, different from the soft feeling of happiness she'd been wrapped in earlier.

Strategically, she put another few inches between them. If Jane wanted to seduce her, chances were, he was going to succeed. She just wasn't sure she was ready for that.

He noted her movement, knew what it meant. He smiled, trying to show her he was perfectly harmless, at least for the time being.

Slowly, he brought her knuckles to his mouth, and she felt tears prick her eyes,

This was a dream, it had to be.

Of course, Jane saw the moisture in her eyes, too. Sitting up, he tugged on the hand he still held, pulling her into his arms. She heard his exhalation when she was settled against his chest.

"I've dreamt about holding you like this," he whispered, so quietly she wondered if he'd meant to say it out loud in the first place, echoing her thoughts.

She pressed her face into his neck, overwhelmed. The heat of his skin and the lingering scent of expensive cologne mixed together, and she took several deep breaths in a row.

He stroked her hair, the back of her neck, other arm keeping her close. "It's a lot to take in at once, isn't it?" he murmured.

She nodded, still unable to speak.

Jane pressed closer. "How about we just stay like this until we get used to it, hmm?"

Her lips curved against his skin. "One of your better ideas, I think."

He chuckled. "Just wait until I tell you my plans for sleeping arrangements."

In the end, his plan didn't matter. They both fell asleep on the couch, limbs wrapped around each other.

She woke just after dawn, muscles a little stiff, head still fuzzy. She'd been dreaming about Jane - it wasn't the first time and she doubted it would be the last. It had been particularly realistic, too.

Her living room was a little chilly, and she cursed herself for passing out on the couch. Dimly, mind still catching up, she wondered where her phone was. Marcus was probably concerned that she hadn't called...

There was a clattering in the kitchen, like someone was searching through cupboards and she sat up. Jane's jacket fell to the floor from where it had been tucked around her like a blanket.

For just a heartbeat, she stared, uncomprehending.

Then it all rushed back. Jane, the plane, being kissed in a TSA interrogation room, the horrible phone call to Marcus, being kissed in this very living room, Jane's arms around her.

She ran her hands through her hair, smiling stupidly.

The scent of coffee reached her about three seconds before she made it to the kitchen. She took a moment to simply look at what was waiting for her, one hand resting against the doorframe.

Jane was standing in front of the stove, shirtsleeves rolled up, hair a wild mess, stubble glinting gold in the morning light, a dishtowel thrown over one shoulder. He was barefoot.

To her, he had never looked more beautiful.

She crossed the floor, the tiles cold under her own bare feet. Jane turned just before she reached him, opening his arms, and she stepped gratefully into his embrace.

"I've been unpacking your kitchen a little," he said to her hair. "Sorry if I woke you. I was trying to find something that would pass for breakfast."

She pressed a kiss over his heart. It was true - her house was covered with boxes. But she would never be happier to unpack. "Any luck?" she wondered.

He sighed. "Of course not. Which means you need to go change your clothes so we can go out."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, do I?"

"Yes," he said shortly. "Get moving. I'm starving, woman."

He stole a kiss as she turned to leave, handing her a cup of coffee.

"Teresa," he called after her, and she paused, waiting.

His smile was blinding. "I love you."

Her heart felt like it was going to burst. "I love you, too."

The look in his eyes was extraordinary, and she stared as he walked over to her, taking her still-full mug and setting it carefully on the counter before resting his hands on either side of her face and kissing her until she was shaking and breathless.

When he pulled back, she found she was gripping his shirt with all of her might, as though she would fall if she didn't have something concrete to hold on to.

Grinning broadly again, Jane dropped a small kiss on the tip of her nose before handing her the coffee cup back.

"Sorry for the distraction," he quipped. "Continue on your way."

Her fingers were still trembling as she found fresh clothes. Her first sip of coffee burnt her tongue, but it hardly seemed to matter.

The mirror in the bathroom told her she was very pink-cheeked and bright-eyed, despite the dark circles that still lingered. She smiled helplessly at her reflection, then quickly ran a brush through her hair. Since they were likely headed to the office after breakfast, she applied her makeup, managing to avoid jabbing herself with the eyeliner.

Jane was waiting when she re-entered the living room, jacket slung over one arm. He held the other one out to her. "Ready?"

She worked on behaving normally while eating her omelette and hash-browns. It was alarmingly difficult, especially since Jane had stretched his legs out under the table, resting them against hers.

It could have been her imagination, but she thought she felt a great deal of eyes on her when she entered the FBI forty minutes later, Jane close to her side.

She figured it was all Jane's fault. After all, no one really knew who she was - Patrick Jane was the golden boy, the one the FBI had gone to such lengths to get. Besides, his exploits were already legendary in Texas. The story of his sprint down a runway had no doubt made the rounds already, and now people wanted to know who it was that had caused such a reaction.

She found she rather preferred anonymity.

Still, she had to hide a smile when she caught a distinctly envious stare from a female agent who worked a few floors above them.

Wylie had hugged her when he'd caught sight of her. "I'm glad you're staying here," the younger man had said, grinning. "We have the best unit in the entire FBI."

She'd smiled back. "You're damn right we do."

The morning was quiet. She unpacked her desk, Jane gave a statement about their last case and brought her fresh coffee.

Around noon, Fischer sought her out, looking a little unsure.

"Lisbon," she said, half-chewing on her lip. "Do you have a second?"

"Sure," Lisbon replied, standing.

Fischer was silent as they made their way outside, strolling slowly around the perimeter of the building. She was clearly nervous about something and trying to work up her courage.

Eventually, she took a deep breath. "I'm transferring," she said. "I'm taking the position you passed on in DC."

Lisbon stared.

"I know it's sudden, but it's really a great job, something I truly want, and I'm from Virginia, so DC's a hell of a lot closer than Texas and-" She broke off abruptly, waiting for a reaction.

Lisbon hugged her. "Good for you," she said, and she meant it. "I'll miss you," she added.

Kim looked relieved. "I just didn't know how you'd feel about the whole thing. I mean, after all, it was supposed to be your job."

Slowly, she shook her head. "Nah," she said quietly. "I'm supposed to be here."

The other woman smiled. "Maybe you're right. These are your people, aren't they? Jane and Cho? Wylie, too, I think."

Lisbon nodded. "They're my people." It was true, and she felt a sense of rightness. Yes, she needed to be here.

After lunch, Abbott called her into his office. She met Jane's eyes as she walked across the bullpen, silently asking if he knew what this was about. He shook his head, eyebrows furrowed.

"Have a seat, Agent Lisbon," Abbott said, waving a hand at the chairs in front of his desk.

Trying to not let her confusion (or nerves) show, she folded her hands in her lap and tried to look competent, her standard operating procedure when dealing with a superior.

Abbott steepled his fingers, and fixed her with a steady gaze. "Kim told me she spoke to you earlier about her decision to transfer."

Lisbon nodded. "Yes, sir. I'm personally sorry she's going, but happy for her professionally."

"I second your sentiments, Lisbon." There was a pause. "However, now I'm short an agent in charge of this unit. I'd like you to fill the vacancy."

For the second time that day, she was dumbstruck. "Sir," she began, searching for words, "it should go to Cho. He has seniority."

"He does," Abbott agreed easily. "You, however, have a large amount of leadership experience. You ran the Serious Crimes Unit of the CBI that was responsible for uncovering one of the largest criminal conspiracies in the history of this country. You had one of the highest case closed rates in the state."

"Because of Jane," she broke in, unable to help herself.

"It wasn't all Jane," Abbott corrected. "He certainly played a part, but he wouldn't get far without you and the agents under you."

"I appreciate that, sir," she replied, "but the position still should go to Cho. He'll make a great leader."

Abbott smiled unexpectedly. "I'm sure," he said. "He learned those skills from you. And besides, when we talked about it earlier, he told me in no uncertain terms that he wasn't taking the job."

"What?"

There was a mixture of amusement and affection behind Abbott's next words. "He said he didn't want the paperwork that came from being responsible for Jane. He also said you were the only one Jane would listen to. I've found that to be true, and I imagine doubly so now."

"Sir," she said again, but then stopped, unsure of what to say.

"You're an excellent agent, Lisbon. The job is yours, if you want it. It comes with better pay and an office." He smiled a little. "I took a great deal away from you back in California. Let me give it back."

When she left, she was grinning from ear to ear.

She could feel Jane looking at her questioningly, but he could wait. Instead, she scanned the room, looking for Cho. He was headed back to his desk, a file in hand.

She hugged him fiercely tight for just a second. "You're an idiot," she whispered. "That job should have been yours."

Cho patted her back. "Don't know what you're talking about, boss."

Her heart swelled. "Thank you," she told him, stepping away, and Cho graced her with a rare smile. Like always, it transformed his face.

"Celebratory drinks tonight," she went on. "For all of us, okay?"

"Deal," the other man replied.

She felt a little strange when she walked back to her desk. Well, her desk for the next few days. Stupidly, she realized she had to pack her stuff back up.

She'd miss Jane being right behind her, but she had a suspicion there would be a couch in her new office before too long. Probably before the first day was over, actually.

She sat, swiveled in her chair to look at Jane.

"Well?" he asked expectantly. "What was that about?"

Still in disbelief, she recounted what had transpired. Jane was grinning proudly by the end. "I'm happy for you," he told her, and she knew he meant it. "You're supposed to be in charge. I know you've told me it's easier this way, but I also know you miss it more than you'll admit."

She absently damned the man for being correct, but she was too happy to get worked up. "I told Cho we're all going out tonight for drinks."

Jane's smile took on a different cast. "Going to get me liquored up and take advantage, Agent Lisbon?"

Her cheeks heated, but she looked primly back at him. "Only if you ask nicely."

Then, before the conversation could get more dangerous, she turned back to her work.

At six thirty that night, she ordered her first beer, wondering about the twists life had been throwing her these past few months.

It was a warm night; the resident FBI agents had all gathered on the back patio of the bar, the moon already bright in the vast Texas sky.

Cho and Fischer were there, this turning into a bit of an impromptu goodbye party for her. Wylie had a mixed drink in hand, and even Abbott was present. Jane was at her side, would be coming home with her tonight, and she was visited by the idea that all was right with the world.

It was about then that the report of a gun rent the peaceful air.

Instinctively, she ducked, one hand going to her hip, the other pulling Jane down next to her. There was the sound of breaking glass and people screaming. And, much closer, frantic yelling.

She scanned the area, noting the shot had come from above them, then stared in horror.

Cho was lying across Fischer, face deathly pale.

His shirt was stained a bloody red.

And even as she watched, his eyes closed.

She screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN**: Thanks for the reviews, folks. I appreciate them! Now, I'll shut up so you can figure out what happened to our beloved Cho.

**The Problem With Atonement**

Chapter Two

He hated hospitals.

Hated the way they smelled, hated the perpetual fluorescent lights, the rattle of death and sickness that hung around the hallways.

Next to him, Lisbon was sipping what he thought was her fourth cup of coffee. It had the consistency of burnt mud, but she didn't appear to notice or care.

Fischer and Abbott were somewhere close by, the former pacing the contours of the room, the latter making phone calls.

Wylie was sitting in a corner, head bowed over his smart phone. Jane didn't know what he was doing, would probably not have understood even if Wylie explained it in detail.

The single bullet that could change all of their lives had entered the upper left part of Cho's chest. It had been a clean shot, as most shots made with that sort of weapon were, but it was still deadly serious.

Cho had been in surgery for over two hours now, long enough for the adrenaline to wear off and for the stress and exhaustion to take over. There was nothing as trying as waiting on news for things that couldn't be controlled.

He took Lisbon's hand, warm from holding her bad coffee.

She leaned against his shoulder sighing deeply.

"It'll be okay," he whispered to her hair. "Cho's a machine. The doctors are probably just trying to figure out where the motherboard goes."

He was rewarded with a very small smile. "Am I supposed to be impressed that you know what a motherboard is?"

In point of fact, he wasn't quite sure, but it sounded like a good term to throw out. "I'm continually seeking to impress you with my knowledge, my dear."

Lisbon rested more of her weight against him. "What the hell is going on, Jane?"

It was his turn to sigh. "Now that's something I don't know." He'd been thinking of little else since they arrived. Well, that, and Cho's chances of survival. "Revenge? For what?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. There's always the chance that this was random, that a sniper just decided to start picking people off one night, but that seems pretty unlikely."

It had happened before, true, but he didn't think that was the case now. "I agree. Very unlikely. There was a reason it was Cho, a reason it was a group of FBI agents."

"Did it have to be Cho or would any of us have worked just as well?" she wondered.

They had played this game many times before when working out motive and suspects. They had never played it about a team member. Well, Lisbon had, he supposed, when he had been kidnapped by the daughter of a murderer. Though he usually enjoyed the mental exercise, he found this was not a particular game he wanted to play.

"Any of the FBI? Or any of the FBI members who happened to be CBI agents in a former life?" No one had wanted to bring that up, but it needed said.

"Arguments for CBI?" Lisbon asked, her tone a little resigned.

"Statistically, we've solved many more crimes in California. Therefore, there are many more potentially disgruntled folks." It was true.

"Against?"

He held up his free hand helplessly. "Well, we're in Texas. And we were out with FBI agents. Also, if someone was gunning down CBI personnel, I flatter myself that I would have been the target."

Lisbon snorted. "You have a very good point with that last one."

He knew what they were leaving unspoken - whoever took the shot _could_ have been aiming for him and had simply missed.

She stood, stretching. He watched openly, appreciatively. Even under the circumstances, she was beautiful.

"I'm going to run to the bathroom," she told him, tossing her now-empty coffee cup into the trash. "Need anything while I'm gone?"

He held her gaze for a moment. "Just for you to come back quickly."

Her answering smile was soft, even if he could see the strain around the edges.

When she was out of his sight, he ran his hands down his face in frustration. He usually had no problem with waiting; it was an entirely different story tonight. All he'd wanted was to go home with Lisbon, to just be with her.

He was visited by the idiotic notion that this was somehow his fault - he was expecting to be happy, and the universe had paid him back for his moment of optimism.

A half hour after Lisbon returned, the surgeon emerged, face stoic, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his lab coat. On his left, he felt Lisbon tense.

"Barring complications, he'll pull through," was the first thing out of the doctor's mouth, and the relief that swept the room was nearly palpable. Jane appreciated that the man didn't mince words. "He did lose a lot of blood, but miraculously, nothing vital was hit. He's going to hurt like hell for a while, but all things considered, that's fairly minor."

They were allowed to see Cho briefly when he was settled in recovery, but as he hadn't woken up, it was essentially pointless. However, Jane knew it made everyone else feel better to be able to physically see the other man was still breathing. There had been a few very tense moments at the crime scene earlier, and reassurance was nice.

It was almost two in the morning when he and Lisbon stumbled through her front door, operating almost completely on autopilot. Belatedly, he realized he hadn't even asked if he could stay.

Lisbon flipped on lights as she walked through the house, letting out a mingled sob and groan when she walked into her bedroom.

"What?" he asked in concern, standing behind her.

"I still have to make the goddamn bed," she grumbled. "I never got around to it yesterday."

He felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Of all the things... Then again, this was probably akin to the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Go shower," he told her, squeezing her shoulders. "Let me worry about this."

It was a mark of how tired she was that she didn't even argue.

When she emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later, hair falling down her back in damp tendrils, face entirely bare of makeup, the sheets were expertly folded down, and she looked ready to fall over.

He grabbed a quick shower himself, self-consciously pulling on pajama pants for the first time in what seemed like ages.

Lisbon wasn't asleep when he made it to bed, something he'd half-expected. Instead, she turned to him as he slid beneath the comforter, arms already open.

He thought the weight of her against his chest was the most comforting thing in the world. She smelled like vanilla and her shampoo, skin like velvet under his fingertips.

By all rights, he should have drifted off almost immediately. She did, he could tell by her breathing, but he laid awake for some time, marveling in the moment. He had wanted this for so long, wanted her warmth, that it seemed almost impossible that they were both here. Perhaps he would wake up with his arms around a pillow again - that had happened more times than he cared to admit.

One of her legs hooked over both of his, and he kissed the top of her head.

Belatedly, he realized he hadn't told her he loved her since that morning. An egregious error, certainly, but he was quite positive she wouldn't thank him for waking her up just yet. In fact, she might just punch him in the nose, and he remembered all too well what that felt like.

Instead, he shifted his hold on her, sliding his hands under her shirt to touch the bare skin of her back for the very first time. He loved this, loved touching her openly. Loved it even more when he could do something that was above and beyond any friendly or platonic touch.

There was no more need to be so very careful about everything, and the change was freeing.

Today hadn't necessarily been a good day. No matter what else had happened, Cho's injury would forever classify the day as bad.

But he wasn't alone. Didn't have to be alone.

And that was worth something.

When he woke, Lisbon had turned on to her side, both of her arms wrapped around one of his. The alarm clock told him it was nearly time to get up, but he stayed put. He could have started her coffee, but he decided seeing her wake up was much more important.

There was a deep sense of peace and rightness here, as though they were utterly safe from the world inside these walls.

He had missed her so much these past few years. Looking back, he was amazed at how he had managed to stay away for so long.

He had daydreamed about a thousand different scenarios when he was in exile - everything from Lisbon just appearing on the beach to jumping on a plane and surprising her when she got off work. The last one would always make him a little sad - he didn't know where she worked now, didn't know where she lived, couldn't picture her in her surroundings.

She stirred, tensing slightly as she woke, then relaxing again when she realized where she was.

He turned towards her, pressing a soft kiss behind her ear. He could see the curve of her cheek as she smiled.

"Good morning," he said warmly.

"'Morning," she returned, snuggling deeper in his embrace.

He had always had a suspicion that Lisbon would be a cuddler, but it was wonderful being proven right.

"Sleep well?" he asked.

She was still smiling. "Very well, thank you." Then she paused. "Well, for all four hours that I actually got to sleep."

He chuckled at the annoyance that crept in to her tone. "I understand that. I vote that we try this again tonight, and hope for better results."

Her fingers laced with his. "What is it with you and good ideas lately?"

"My ideas are _always_ good," he argued, her hair in his nose. She just smelled_ so good._

Her phone rang, and he felt the sudden and immediate tension.

Ten seconds later, his went off as well.

It was work, Fischer on his line, Abbott on hers.

Cho had made it through the night with no complications, an excellent piece of news. They were being summoned in early to begin work on their new and incredibly important case. It was imperative to figure out who was behind this. Either way - random shooting or specific targeting of FBI agents - someone was on the lose with a sniper rifle.

He was dressed before Lisbon, and she inspected his outfit as she hastily stuck some earrings in, hair swept up in a ponytail.

Dubiously, she fingered the collar of his shirt. "Really, Jane? Do you have anything else?"

He went with hurt. "What? You don't like my shirt?"

"You need to go shopping," she said matter-of-factly.

He rolled his eyes. "Sure, Lisbon. I'll just pop over to the mall in between finding out who tried to kill Cho and _then_ making sure you're not going to starve here if I leave you alone." She still didn't have any food in the kitchen. He'd had some vague idea about running through a grocery store after their drinks last night, but of course, that hadn't happened.

She made a face at him, but didn't pull away when he slid a hand beneath her chin, tipping her up for a slow kiss. She tasted like toothpaste and Lisbon and he groaned when her fingers slid into his hair. His hands fell to her hips, bringing her closer.

He kissed her neck, her collarbone, and she was suddenly toying with the buttons on his shirt.

They needed to slow down, needed to take a step back...

"God, Patrick," she whispered when he found a particular sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. She grabbed a handful of his shirt. "I think I could rip this off you."

He tried to grin at her, desire surging. His hands slid to her backside, bringing her flush against him. "Not enough time," he murmured, though he was pretty sure it wouldn't take long. "And besides, this shirt's handmade. I'd have to go back to Venezuela to get another one."

Her hands slid back into his hair, pulling their lips together almost fiercely, tongue demanding entrance. "You'd better fucking not," she hissed, in between possessive kisses.

"Don't worry," he tried to tell her, when she let him breathe. "I'd take you with me."

Pacified, she loosened her grip, stepping back. He kissed her gently one last time, still trying to soothe her. Well, there was an issue, no doubt. They would get there. Little by little, they would dredge up all of the hurt they had both carried around all these years.

Just not this morning.

Despite the early hour, the FBI was nearly full. Everyone took the shooting of a fellow agent very seriously, and the whole place was on high alert.

Abbott called them all in for a meeting within ten minutes of their arrival.

"We found where our shooter was," he told them, the computer screens behind him changing to a satellite view of Austin. "We were here," he went on, and West Street Bar and Grill was suddenly circled in red. "Based on trajectory and ballistics, our shooter had to be here." The office building across the street was now in the foreground. "Six stories up," Abbott finished.

Fischer took over. "We got the call about ten minutes before we got a hold of you two," she nodded at them. "Head over to the scene and see if there's anything useful. I doubt it, but you just never know. Wylie is going to be pulling security footage from about an eight block radius, and we'll start going through it. We're also going through all the cases Cho has been involved in since he joined the FBI, see if anything stands out."

"Okay," he said, even as he suspected there was more to this than someone being upset with Cho. After all, they had to start somewhere.

Traffic was starting to pick up as they headed downtown. Lisbon was quiet, hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel.

He wondered what would have happened if last night had gone as planned. Well, based on what they had been like this morning...

Silently, he took a deep breath, counted to fifty in Latin. It didn't help that he vividly remembered what her skin felt like under his hands, what _she_ felt like pressed against his hardness, mouth moving insistently over his. He wanted to know what her breasts felt like his his hands, what she looked like when she came undone, if she would cry out his name.

_Biofeedback_, he reminded himself, but his brain felt like it was covered in a haze.

He managed to get a grip on himself when they parked alongside the nondescript office building their sniper had waited at. It wasn't difficult now - he had seen Cho covered in too much blood here just last night, had thought he was going to be losing one of his closest friends, and one of the few people he trusted.

There was yellow crime scene tape across the door of room 1693, FBI agents swarming the halls.

"The place is just empty office space right now," one of the field agents told Lisbon. "The last occupants moved elsewhere about six months ago."

Lisbon was clearly thinking, but she remained silent as they crossed to look out the sliding windows. The bar's patio was clearly visible. The angle was right, and he felt a little uneasy. Someone had stood here less than twelve hours ago, very much intent on taking at least one life.

"Not a professional," Lisbon murmured, head tilted as she looked down. She was taking the shot in her mind. Judging by her statement, she thought she wouldn't have missed. "Too close for a pro to not get a kill shot. Besides, Cho had been standing in the same spot for a few minutes. Plenty of time to get sighted in."

Her eyes were steely, and he knew she was in full-blown professional mode.

She looked again. "You know, not even was this not done by an expert, this was someone who hadn't even had a ton of practice."

That was heartening. It meant that there was a better chance this person, whoever they were, would make a mistake.

"Agent Lisbon." Jane recognized the agent from earlier approaching them, clad in the standard blue FBI jacket. "We just spoke to the building manager again. He's sent all the security footage in to our offices. Also, the crime scene guys found a bullet casing with a partial print on it."

Jane blinked. "Well, that would just be entirely too convenient, wouldn't it?"

The man ignored him. "It might not be enough to get a match, but it's better than nothing."

"Maybe," Jane amended, contrary nature rising to the surface. Lisbon poked him in the ribs.

He winced, then stepped away for a better look at the space they were in. It did indeed look just like discarded office space. Except... he frowned, looking closer.

There was a desk off to the side, nothing noteworthy about that. Except for it was remarkably dust free.

Methodically, he began going through drawers. There was a notepad in one drawer. Feeling a bit like a cheesy spy, he fished out a pencil and lightly rubbed it over the top page. Letters started to appear, and it took him a moment to put them together.

"Lisbon," he called, "come over here."

She did, eyebrows furrowed. She walked faster when she caught sight of his expression.

"What?"

He gestured at the paper in his hands. "Anything look familiar?"

She scanned the letters and numbers. When her eyes got about half down the page, she understood. "_Shit_," she hissed.

"Indeed," he deadpanned.

She was looking at a list of license plate numbers. Halfway down was her SUV. Towards the bottom, he recognized the Airstream plates. And right at the top were Cho's.

"Abbott?" she asked. "Fischer? Wylie? I don't know their plate numbers."

He shook his head. "I, of course, do." And he did. It was an old habit, started back in his days with the carnival. It was important not to pull the same tricks twice, and remembering every license plate helped with that. It had translated to his adult life, but he generally just made a point of knowing his co-workers' vehicles. "They're not on here."

She sighed, shoulders slumping a bit. "Well, that answers one question."

He nodded, smiling grimly. "Lucky us."

"The other plates on that list," she began. "Who do those cars belong to?"

He shrugged. "I don't know that. It won't be hard to find out though."

When they exited the building, he caught Lisbon surreptitiously looking around. It didn't take a genius to know what she was doing, and he felt goosebumps crawl up his spine.

The warmth of her bed seemed an eternity ago.

Someone was out to get the CBI. Again.

Apparently, they didn't get the memo that there wasn't a CBI anymore.

Perhaps they did, and just wanted to make sure that even the memory of what once was California's best law enforcement agency was wiped from the earth.

Either way, he wondered when the past was going to let him go.

He hoped he would still be alive to enjoy it.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN**: Well, hello there! Thanks to all for your lovely reviews! They are much appreciated!

Warning: the last...3/4 (yes, 3/4) of this is M, so if you want to skip it, here's your advanced notice. For the rest of you, please read the first 1/4 BEFORE heading to the sexy parts.

Please please please review. I'm like a drug addict.

**The Problem With Atonement**

**Chapter Three**

The other license plate numbers belonged to the small group of FBI vehicles that their team tended to use. That particular detail made Lisbon uneasy - it wasn't just a list of _any_ FBI SUVs.

Someone had been watching them, and for some time.

The security cameras from the sixth floor had been turned off. The building manager had responded to her not-very-well-hidden annoyance by arguing that since the entire floor was still being remodeled, there wasn't much of a point.

Their current strategy now involved looking at every second of footage from the lobby and other floors, trying to match faces on the screen with personnel files they had been given. So far, everyone they saw on the footage had an actual job in the building.

It was slow going, however. There was somewhere around ten businesses housed in the one skyscraper. That translated to a lot of damn people.

Wiley was methodically going through footage, looking utterly absorbed in his work. He was burying himself in the job, his own method of coping. Jane had pointed out to her that it was probably a rare thing for the IT genius to know an agent that had been wounded. He held Cho in much regard, and he was devoting all his energy to finding whoever was responsible.

She had lost track of the number of cups of coffee she'd drunk since reluctantly disentangling herself from Jane this morning.

Must of their day had been a hurry up and wait situation. Hurry to the crime scene. Wait for footage. Hurry to interview witnesses. Wait to hear if the canvassing had turned up new leads.

An ache had started to blossom between her shoulder blades the way it always did when she was tired and under a great deal of stress.

Suddenly, a warm pair of hands was on her shoulders, and she relaxed fractionally under Jane's touch. They were still in the office - she _should_ make him stop, but his thumb brushed a knot of tension and she bit her lip to keep from moaning.

"What now?" he asked, leaning over her.

"Hmm?" Her eyes fluttered shut. He was really too good at this. If he ever needed a career change, he would make a fabulous masseuse.

"What do you want to do now?" His voice was quiet.

What did she want? She took a second to totally misunderstand the question. What she wanted...well, she wanted to lock up whoever was attempting to gun them down, make them safe. Then she wanted to go home, have a glass or two of wine, a long bath, then go to bed. With Jane. In both capacities.

Before her mind could start constructing scenarios, she wrenched her lids open, forced herself to focus. "There's another potential witness coming in within the hour." They had requested the public's help - anyone who thought they had seen a suspicious looking individual was urged to call in or stop by - and they'd had a few takers. "After that, if we don't get anything useful, I want to go see Cho."

Jane sighed. "Right." He squeezed her shoulders once more before stepping back, much to her regret. "After that, though," he whispered, lips unexpectedly in her ear, and a shiver of heat crawled up her spine, "we're going home."

It took a considerable amount of restraint not to launch herself at him.

They had shared just a few passionate kisses, but she knew what his voice was promising.

And, _God_, did she want him.

The latest potential witness was less than helpful. Far from corroborating any one else's testimony, the man described a suspect that matched no previous descriptions.

She wanted to pull her hair out, but instead, calmly thanked the man for his time.

Forcing her back to straighten, she tossed her things in her bag, looking around for Jane. It was then that she found the note propped against her keyboard.

_I snuck out. See you at home. Love you._

She smiled at his scribbled message. It was the second time in just a couple hours he'd referred to "home." It should have frightened her a little, but all she felt was happy. Jane needed a home, and God knew that trailer didn't fit the bill.

Briefly, she traced his _love you_ with her fingertips. Then she carefully folded the note and stuck it in her purse. Struck by an idea, she hastily scrawled her own message, tucking the sheet of paper into the cushions of his couch. He'd find it, she was sure of that.

Cho was sitting up in bed when she arrived at the hospital. He looked pale, true, but he smiled at her a little, and she felt much better for it.

"Any progress?" he asked, wincing as he adjusted the angle of his bed.

She shook her head despondently. "No closer to finding out who did this, if that's what you mean. We have pretty good reason to believe that it's someone after old CBI agents, though."

His expression didn't alter. "Apparently we left more than a few disgruntled people in our wake."

She knew what he was thinking. "But we closed almost all of the cases."

"We did," Cho agreed easily. "And no matter what, boss, that's what counts."

He closed his eyes, and she left soon after, figuring that surviving a near-fatal shot earned the man some downtime.

The lights were already on at her house. She expected it, but it still touched her, coming home to someone. Then she frowned - she hadn't given Jane a key.

Rolling her eyes, she finished pulling into the garage. Like a deadbolt would stop him. He'd probably stolen her house keys and gotten copies made when she wasn't looking. That sounded like him. She knew he'd done the same thing in California though he'd rarely had reason to be at her place.

He was in the kitchen, stirring something that smelled delicious and Italian.

"Hello there," he smiled, handing her a glass of red wine. "I got groceries."

She opened her previously bare refrigerator. "I see that," she said, noting the fresh fruit and eggs. "Is that where you disappeared to this afternoon?"

He turned back to the stove. "It was. It's been a stressful few days. You need some real food or you're going to keel over. And so do I, for that matter."

She stole a kiss, tasting the wine on his lips, too, and it was far more intoxicating than the actual drink.

Jane dropped the spoon onto the countertop, wrapping both arms around her. He coaxed her mouth open, making her pulse jump, his hands sliding beneath the back of her now-untucked shirt.

Warm hands on warmer skin.

Silky hair beneath her fingers.

She nibbled on his lower lip, loving his stifled groan, the sensation of his hardness against her stomach. His hands were trembling against her back, and she felt almost lightheaded. This was Patrick Jane. He was the most collected man she had ever known, an accomplished actor and pretender, and he was shaking in her arms.

He hadn't been able to act like a man for so long, had to keep his own desires and passions buttoned away and now...

She wanted to make him feel. Wanted to _let_ him feel. Feel desired and wanted and loved.

Her hands skated down his chest, undoing buttons. She could feel the goosebumps on his bare skin.

Slowly, she rose onto her tiptoes, tugged gently on his earlobe with her teeth, was rewarded with breathless swearing. "Take me to bed," she breathed hotly, one hand sliding below his belt and massaging lightly.

He was fighting for control, the tendons in his neck standing out as he struggled to master himself.

It was time to let go.

She kissed him again, distracting him long enough to undo the buttons on her own shirt. He definitely noticed when she shrugged it off, pressing her mostly naked chest to his.

He groaned again, and she peppered his neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses. "I want you," she whispered. "Take me to bed, _please_."

She looked up at him, pleading in her face. His eyes were hooded, unfocused, breath coming erratically. She stroked him again through the fabric of his trousers, and his lashes fluttered shut. It was fascinating to watch him like this, to see his face stripped down to stark want.

She did that. Her hands found his belt, fumbled for a second. He stopped her, pulling her fingers back to his chest.

For just a heartbeat, she was afraid. This was a monumental step for them, and despite his teasing and innuendos earlier, he might not be ready for it.

Then he scooped her up, tossing her over his shoulder and she nearly wept in relief.

He laid her across the bed, hovering over her, lips lightly skimming her hyper-sensitive skin. He nuzzled into her cleavage, fingers slipping beneath her to unclasp her bra. He cupped her breasts with both hands, thumbs brushing their taut peaks.

She pushed his shirt from his shoulders, regretting that he had to take his hands off of her to accomplish her task, but decided it was a sacrifice she was willing to make.

His mouth replaced his fingers, and her hands slipped into his hair again, holding him in place, back arching.

Distracted by the rough edges of his tongue, she hardly noticed when he tugged her slacks down, but definitely _did_ notice when he began tracing the edges of her panties with a fingertip.

Dimly, her mind told her there was something she should be remembering. It was impossible to focus. She shuddered when he pushed the soft cotton aside and stroked her.

Abruptly, it came back to her. She had wanted this to be about him...

"Patrick," she groaned out, and he raised his head from its place at her breast. "I want..." He stroked her again, and she broke off.

"What, love?" he asked, voice seduction itself. "What do you want?"

She fumbled for her wits. "I want to make _you_ feel good."

He smiled then, kissed her stomach, lower. "Teresa, sweetheart, _this_ makes me feel good." His fingers slid inside of her and she clenched around him. "You have no idea _how_ good, in fact."

Her eyes squeezed shut as he moved his hand in a subtle rhythm, breathing shallowly. She could sense him shifting, then let out a sob when she felt his mouth against her sex. His tongue circled her, and she heard him hum appreciatively as he eased another finger inside her.

She came, sudden and hard, gripping the sheets until her knuckles turned white. He didn't let her go, determined to wring every last ounce of pleasure out. Too much, it was too much, and she rolled away onto her stomach, shaking with aftershocks.

Jane followed, hands sliding over her back, then her rear, mouth leaving a trail of hot kisses on her spine. His fingers found her once more, slipping easily inside, and she felt dumb with pleasure, cheek pressed against the comforter.

He grasped her hips, pulled them up, and she felt his tongue against her again...

She was almost sobbing when she came again. Blindly, she reached for him, and he held her fast, her face in his neck.

"If you're wondering," he whispered, "that made me feel good, too."

She didn't have the breath to reply. Instead, she finished what she had started earlier with his belt, the buckle making a satisfying clink as it hit the floor.

Jane was tense when she slid a hand into the waistband of his boxers. She thought she understood why, but then she caught a glimpse of his face. Taut with desire, yes, but there was something else, too. Patrick Jane was actually nervous.

Which just proved to her that men could be idiots, too.

She wasn't sure of his exact reasons - maybe he didn't know if she would...well, like what she saw, or maybe he was afraid that it was all going to be over far sooner than she anticipated.

Silly fears. There was nothing about him she didn't think was perfect, at least physically, and even if he came the second she touched him, it would still be the best sexual experience of her life.

She just needed to reassure him, that was all.

Her fingers wrapped around his length, smiling when he twitched. Having this effect on him was a powerful feeling. She stroked him, wanting to know what this felt like, circled the pad of her thumb around the head of his shaft.

His eyes were wrenched shut, cheeks a riot of color. He was biting his lip so hard she was afraid he was going to draw blood.

So she took pity on him, sliding his boxers off his hips, grasping in in her hand again as he knelt between her open thighs. Slowly, she rubbed him against her slick flesh, feeling her own tension rise as his body caressed the most sensitive part of hers.

She was on the edge of another orgasm when his fingers started gripping her arms almost painfully tight.

"_Please_," she heard him whisper. "God, Teresa, _please_." Patrick Jane begging. Her heart stuttered.

She pressed a soft kiss against his collarbone, then guided him to her entrance, hand falling away as he pushed forward.

They were both utterly silent when he filled her, lost in the moment. She felt open, stretched, full, almost dizzy. His hips moved, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

His self-control was gone now, she could tell, and she let her head fall back, relishing every second of this.

There were going to be bruises on her hips, but she didn't care. She urged him forward, hands on his sides, telling him without words that she wanted whatever he did, needed whatever he needed.

His movements became almost rough, and the sudden angle change as she found herself flat on her back pushed her over the edge. She scratched at his back, pulling him deeper, and heard him cry out her name as he followed.

He was still for a very long time, head bowed on her shoulder, trembling just a little.

She stroked his hair, just like she would have if he was a child, kissed his sweat-dampened temple. "I love you," she whispered.

He raised his eyes to hers, and what she saw in their depths took her breath away. "Say it again," he said warmly, a hint of a smile playing around his lips.

She touched her nose to his. "Say what again?" she dutifully replied, smiling too.

"You're supposed to kiss me now," Jane helpfully reminded her, and she laughed before doing just that.

He moved to his back, pulling her against his chest, one hand in her hair, the other tracing patterns down her bare arm.

She tugged the blankets up over both of them, snuggling into his warmth, perfectly happy to stay just like this for the rest of the night. She was relaxed, absolutely sated, felt loved and cherished.

And hungry, she amended as her stomach growled.

"Oh, _shit_," Jane said, sitting up quickly and nearly dislodging her. "I left the stove on!"

He rolled out of bed, fumbled a bit in the dark for his boxers. "Stay put," he instructed, "I'll be right back."

Grinning, she rolled to her stomach, arms around a pillow, stretching languorously. She was a bit sore, but it was for the absolute best reason she could think of.

Within five minutes, Jane had returned, two plates balanced on one arm, their wineglasses in his other hand. "Et voila!" he announced. "Your slightly burnt dinner."

It was absurd and perfect, wrapped up in bedsheets eating slightly singed pasta, discussing everything and nothing.

After, they showered together, and she took great delight in exploring a naked and wet Patrick Jane. She suspected he had enjoyed it as well.

He stepped out into the steamy bathroom first, quickly drying himself before pulling a towel around her, the ends against her cheeks as though she was a child. He kissed her tenderly, and for whatever reason, the moment moved her nearly to tears.

Jane understood what she couldn't say, and simply held her next to his heart, letting her know that he was as moved by what had happened tonight as she was.

He made love to her again slowly, without any of the frenetic energy of their first coupling, reading her body language until she was shivering and clinging to him.

He was _so_ good at this, she thought absently, Jane going abruptly stiff above her. Then she smiled to herself. They were _both_ good at this.

What a welcome thought.

And then she stopped thinking for the rest of the night.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** And here we go! Thank you to everyone for reviewing. You guys rock my face off. And I'm proud to say that no one has guessed my villain. Muhahaha, and all of that.

Right. I'll shut up. Onward!

**The Problem With Atonement**

**Chapter Four**

Jane woke with his face in the crook of her neck, both arms around her. At some point, he had pulled the blankets around them, and he felt wrapped in a warm haze of peacefulness. He never wanted to leave this bed.

His muscles were aching a bit, probably from lack of practice, and he found he was looking forward to getting very in shape in the coming days, weeks, months, and years. Last night was quite the auspicious start, though.

He had secretly (and not so secretly) been afraid of how it would go. It was certainly intense - he'd known it would be, just not precisely how much. Lisbon had enjoyed herself, too, and that was worth a great deal.

Ridiculous woman, wanting to make him feel good.

As though the feeling of her skin under his hands wasn't the most pleasurable thing he'd been given in a lifetime. At least until he replaced his hands with his mouth.

He smiled to himself.

She was wonderfully responsive to him, just like he always knew she would be. All of that drive and passion released at once...it was intoxicating. She was also, as it turned out, very talented and quite capable of nearly undoing him.

He'd begged. Actually begged.

It had been sheer perfection, moving inside of her, her nails scratching against his back, breathless moans in his ear, finally letting go, blind with ecstasy, instinctively searching for comfort from her open arms.

And then they'd done it again.

He wondered if she'd be amenable to a third go around. She wasn't a morning person, true, but he thought she'd be able to see things from his point of view. He could be very persuasive when he put his mind to it.

Next to him, she shifted infinitesimally closer, and he adjusted his position accordingly, letting her lay across his chest, brushing a strand of dark hair away so he could see her face.

She looked sweet, soft, peaceful. _He_ had done that.

It was a bit stunning.

Especially considering the fact that it seemed like all he had been able to do before now was break her heart and make her cry.

Lisbon moved again, and he curved a hand around the back of her head, fingers sliding through her locks.

For someone who had gone out of his way to generally avoid being touched (and avoided _touching_ people as well) for a number of years, he was already wildly addicted to being connected to her physically.

"I love you," he whispered. Even if she couldn't actually hear him, he still hoped she would know.

His heart felt full.

They desperately needed to solve this case. He had finally gotten around to living again, and he wanted to do it without restrictions.

He laid awake thinking, trying to put the pieces together, the sun slowing rising through the drawn curtains. There was a finite number of people to deal with, that was true. But was it former cases? Or did this involve the Blake Association?

Lisbon opened her eyes fifteen minutes before her alarm was set to go off, stretching against him and trying to smother a yawn without success.

He turned his full attention to her, loving her sleepy grin, her rosy cheeks, messy hair.

"Good morning," he smiled, snuggling in until their noses were touching.

She rested a hand on his stubbled cheek. "Morning."

He kissed her softly, just enough to elevate her heart rate.

Before things could get very interesting, she slipped away, out of bed, pausing before the open door of her semi-unpacked closet.

He watched the morning sun dance on her bare skin, her hair drift around her shoulders, watched the easy play of the fine muscles in her back.

"Stop looking at me like that," she said without turning. "You're making me self-conscious."

He chucked, folding his arms behind his head. "Number one, you have absolutely nothing to be self-conscious about. Unless, of course, you're worried I might jump you as you're picking out clothes, which is a possibility I'm considering." He saw the goosebumps rise on her arms, and continued with a smile. "And number two, I've spent the last decade watching you when you didn't know I was looking. I'm going to enjoy doing it out in the open now."

Abruptly, she came back to the bed, hands on his shoulders pushing him against the pillows. She leaned close, eyelashes tickling his cheek. Before he could resist, he reached a hand up, tracing the side of one breast. "I have news for you, Patrick," she told him, voice low and seductive in a way he hadn't anticipated. "I _always_ knew you were looking."

He pulled her down, and she tugged the sheet away as she straddled him. Apparently, she needed absolutely no convincing for another lovemaking session, and he thoroughly enjoyed being at her mercy.

He thought she enjoyed it, too.

Later, when she was hastily getting dressed, he threw together a quick breakfast for them with the purchases he'd made the night before. He put the pan with the burnt pasta in the sink to soak, hoping he'd manage to get it clean without ruining her cooking implements, mainly because she didn't have enough to sacrifice.

He stepped into the bathroom as she stepped out, stealing another quick kiss as they passed in the doorway.

Traffic was tolerable this morning, and they walked in the door to the FBI offices just before eight. He saw Lisbon eyeing Cho's desk with a determined look, and he knew she was vowing to stop this, just as he had a few hours earlier.

They spent the morning going through the statements from the myriad of witnesses they'd had the day before. A few bits and pieces seemed to match, and they put those in a separate pile. Unfortunately, people tended to not pay very close attention to those they met on the street unless they knew they had a reason to do so, which they didn't in this case. It was actually possible every one of their potential witnesses was describing the same person.

Wylie had gotten his hands on more security footage from the surrounding buildings, and was watching it on two computer screens. It was tedious, but he still seemed just as absorbed as always.

By nine that morning, the old CBI files had found their way to the middle of the bullpen. Since Abbott and his team had been the ones to take over the old organization, all of their files had come to Texas as well.

Lisbon and Fischer were systematically going through closed case files, entering names into databases, and seeing if the persons involved were free or still locked up. In the past few years, even Lisbon had lost track of all their successes.

He watched her computer screen from his place behind her, occasionally devoting time to study the ivory curve of her neck.

Abruptly, he was reminded that she would be moving away from this spot at the end of the week. Which meant he needed to go couch shopping for her new office. It would be just like old times soon, and he bit back a smile.

Despite the darkness he had carried around with him, his time at CBI stood out as one of the better things he had done in his life. He brought criminals to justice, exposed frauds, saved lives. And he'd found Lisbon, and the team that might as well be family.

Only this time, he wouldn't have an attic to lurk in. He figured that was an all right trade off, considering he could now lurk in Lisbon's house if he wanted. She wouldn't kick him out, he knew that.

There was a small _thwack_ as another file hit the floor beside her desk.

Lisbon pushed back, rolling her neck. She looked at the boxes yet to be examined, then groaned.

"For the first time, I wish you weren't so damn good at this," she told him, expression annoyed.

He raised his hands helplessly.

She sighed. "Since mostly we arrested murderers, these people are all still in jail. Based on that inexpert shot, I'd say Cho was hit by someone we personally dealt with. If someone in prison had gotten in touch with a hired gun, they would have been a professional."

He agreed. So, no murderers. That narrowed the field considerably.

"Volker?" he asked curiously. "He didn't technically kill anyone."

She shook her head. "First guy I looked for. He's still behind bars. Besides, he'd definitely hire someone to do the deed himself. The last time he tried to get his hands dirty, it didn't work out so well." She allowed herself a brief, victorious smile, and he was proud of her all over again.

Volker had almost been untouchable, but she had stuck with it, her own personal Red John. There were a few moments, he had to admit, that he had been very worried about her. It would be so easy to get obsessed, to get hurt, get caught up in the game and not see the danger until it was too late.

Well, now they were facing another time when she could certainly get hurt.

He frowned, patted the space beside him.

Looking puzzled, Lisbon sat next to him, and he felt a bit better. Just because he could, he covered her hand with his. She squeezed his fingers gently, not understanding what was wrong, but willing to comfort him anyway.

"We'll be okay," she whispered, and he realized she did indeed know what was bothering him.

After she returned to her desk, he grabbed a stack of files himself, flipping the brown paper covers open and scanning the names. It was amazing how many of these he remembered vividly. It was an unexpected trip down memory lane - here was the case where Lisbon'd had taken her first lives for his sake. Here was where he had reciprocated. Here was when she'd punched him in the nose. He smiled at the last one.

Here was the case they had worked after Thomas McAllister had painted a bloody smiling face on her lovely skin.

Abruptly, he slammed the folder shut. Standing, he took two steps and put his hands on her shoulders, dropping a kiss on the top of her head just to reassure himself she was all right.

Needing a moment to compose himself, he crossed to the break room and made tea, finding comfort in the familiar ritual. By his third sip, he was under control again, and he brought Lisbon a fresh cup of coffee. She was a little tired, he knew that, and it was probably his fault, too.

Well, he also knew she wasn't going to complain.

The files on her desk were divided into neat piles and he admired her efficiency. But that was Lisbon.

She smiled gratefully when he rested the coffee on her desk, and the warmth in her eyes made him want to pull her into his arms.

Instead, he retreated to his couch and picked up his phone.

_When this is over, I'm taking you to bed for a week._

She didn't turn around, but he could tell by the curve of her cheek she was smiling. His phone beeped.

_Promises, promises._

It was his turn to smile. _That sounds like a challenge, my dear._

Beep. _Are you sure you're up to it, old man?_

Beep. _In every way you can imagine._

He watched her deliberately turn her phone over and slide it to the edge of her desk, effectively ending the dialogue he was very much enjoying having. For just a second, he indulged in some fairly elaborate fantasies.

By the end of the day, they had gone through perhaps seventy percent of the files. The vast majority of the perpetrators were still safely behind bars, so they were ruling them out.

He shuffled Lisbon out the door before six, drove them back to her place despite her protests (and comments on his speed), had his lips pressed against her neck before 6:45.

She tangled her hands in his hair, tilted her head to the side to give him better access, arching a little when she slipped his hands inside her jacket to rest on her narrow waist.

"Food first tonight," he whispered after a moment.

She pouted, and he kissed her. "Have some patience, woman. I'll make it up to you, I promise. But I'm in the mood for a properly cooked meal."

He pulled away, but not before sliding his hands a little farther south and squeezing her rear. She swatted his arm, and he laughed, shrugging off his coat and turning to the sink.

In a few minutes, Lisbon emerged from the bedroom in athletic pants and a long-sleeved shirt, hair tugged up into a ponytail. As long as he'd known her, he'd rarely seen her in something other than work clothes.

She did some work on her house while he made baked chicken and cleaned up his mess from earlier. It felt easy, normal, and he smiled to himself as he added rice to the water boiling on the stove.

After dinner, they made love again, falling into an exhausted heap in the bed, his head on her chest.

He woke suddenly in darkness, knowing there was something wrong.

Beneath him, Lisbon was tense, and he was grateful for her police training. Likely, she had been awake for some time.

Her fingers were curled around his head, holding him still, and he knew she wanted him to be silent.

Then he heard it - the soft rattle of a locked door handle.

It was the back door, the one that led to the garage.

Quietly, Lisbon untangled herself. In the dimness, her pale skin almost glowed. Carefully, he rolled off the bed, unsure of what he was going to do, but knowing laying in bed was a bad plan.

Lisbon moved silently through the room, slipping on her robe, fumbling on the ground for the gun belt he had taken off of her just hours before.

He crawled for a few feet, dug his phone out of his pants pocket, dialed 911.

Lisbon disappeared from his sight, and he put his trust in her abilities.

As quietly as he could, he described the situation to the emergency dispatcher.

The door rattled again and he wondered where the hell Lisbon was.

There was perhaps a minute of silence.

Then he heard a shout, Lisbon's, and the sound of rapid gunfire from two separate weapons. His heart shot into his mouth, and he only started to breathe when he heard Lisbon yelling again.

He paused for just a second to yank on his pants, then rushed out the door, following Lisbon's shouts. He found her in the backyard, weapon drawn. She had stopped at the edge of the fence that surrounded her property and it didn't take a genius to understand why. Dressed in a robe and totally barefoot, she was at a distinct disadvantage for chasing down criminals.

He stood at her back, eyes scanning the darkness but not really hoping to see anything.

"What happened?" he asked as the first notes of police sirens began to reach him.

"I snuck out the window in the other bedroom," she said. "I almost ran into whoever was out there. They fired, I fired back."

His hand found her shoulder. "I heard that."

"Anyway," she went on, "they ran. I couldn't do my best job of following for obvious reasons."

Before the police reached them, they had dressed properly. Jane was instinctively making tea. His nerves were a little rattled.

Murderers sneaking into his...home, he supposed, in the middle of the night made him edgy for a whole host of reasons.

There were bullet holes in the garage.

CSU had just started dusting for prints when the FBI showed up looking grim and official, Fischer at the lead.

"You guys are just trying to make my last week exciting, aren't you?" she asked, scanning the scene.

"Yup," Lisbon deadpanned. "You know us. Just a couple of regular party animals."

"From what I can tell," Fischer went on, "you scared the hell out of whoever was here."

"Again, that fits out theory of not a professional," Lisbon said, and the other woman nodded.

It was another few hours before they were left alone. By that time, even Lisbon was showing signs of strain, and he rested an arm at her shoulders as the last squad car drove off.

As soon as she shut the door, she turned into him, and he heard her taking deep breaths into his neck.

He held her, hands running up and down her back, taking as much of her weight as she would give him.

"I just want to be happy, Jane," she breathed.

"I know, sweetheart," he whispered back. "I do, too."

They stood in the living room for another silent minute. "Do you want to go to a hotel?" he finally asked.

She shook her head. "Take me back to bed."

And so he did.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN**: Thanks for the reviews, you wonderful people! Hey, we made it to October...only a few more months of hiatus to cope with!

**The Problem With Atonement**

**Chapter Five**

She was on her fifth cup of coffee and it wasn't even 10:30 in the morning. Distractedly, she wondered what her personal record for caffeine consumed in one day was. She'd probably hit it during those last days at the CBI when she literally didn't sleep for several days in a row.

That was still worse - she didn't think anything could top it.

Unknown assassins were a close second, however. Her only comforts were that she had the entire FBI behind her, and that the would-be murderer wasn't very good at their self-appointed job.

She took another sip from her mug, willing the go-juice to do its thing.

It was a mark of how stressed Jane was - he hadn't even commented on her coffee consumption.

He was laying on the couch in the office, arms folded over his chest, eyes shut. To most people, he looked like he was relaxing. She knew better, knew that frighteningly sharp mind of his was turning over suspects and scenarios at something approaching light speed.

She very much wanted to go to him, to hold his head in her lap, to play with those messy curls again, but she restrained herself.

Instead, she flipped open the nearest file to her, still one of the cases that had been brought from California. It was the Doc Rivers case, the football great that everyone had assumed had gotten blown up. That wasn't the truth, but it certainly had made for an interesting few days.

She remembered sitting on the roof with Jane after, sharing an ice-cream sundae. Even she had recognized the implied intimacy of such a gesture.

There had been a few times, before he faked his breakdown and took off for Las Vegas, that she had wondered about them, about what might be happening. There had certainly been times where Jane seemed almost ready to cross the line. As for her...well, she had been prepared to make that leap for some time, but knew she could never be the one to take the first step.

Another item on their list of things she wanted to talk about when their lives weren't in immediate danger.

There was a disturbance on the far side of the bullpen and she looked up, seeing a familiar dark head.

"Cho!" she yelled, almost running. "What in the hell are you doing here? You need to be in the hospital!"

He ignored her fretting, instead moving (very slowly) to his desk. She saw the wince of pain that crossed his face as he sat.

"Seriously," she began again, voice lower. "What the hell are you thinking? You were shot three days ago!"

She sensed rather than heard Jane at her back.

Cho defiantly turned on his computer. "We need all hands on deck for this one," he said evenly. "Besides, I heard what happened last night at your place. If I can help, I'm going to."

"You know," Jane broke in conversationally, "I've always sort of thought you were more machine than man, but this is a little ridiculous. Go home, we'll take care of it."

Jane's words were met with the stoic stare that had caused a thousand criminals to confess, and Jane threw up his hands in a theatrical gesture of surrender. "Fine. But if you're going to bleed out, do it in the break room. Tile floors, and all of that."

Fischer interrupted their tense reunion. "Conference room," she said. "We might have something." Then her eyes took in Cho's appearance. "On second thought, we'll come to you."

Cho began to rise, but Fischer put a hand on his shoulder. "Not a chance. I'm still in charge of this unit for the next four days, and I will absolutely ban you from this office if you make me."

Lisbon hastily hid her smile in the depths of her coffee cup.

Five minutes later, Wylie was buffering footage on his laptop, the team crowded around Cho's desk.

"We canvassed the area around Lisbon's house," Fischer began. "Luckily, she has some neighbors who are night owls."

"I bet they were entertained as hell last night," Jane muttered under his breath.

"Long story short," Fischer went on, "several witnesses recall seeing someone running through the neighborhood at about 12:30. We got matching descriptions - dark clothing, fairly small in stature. Two people swear it was a woman."

Lisbon felt her eyes widen. "A woman?"

Fischer nodded. "They're willing to swear to it. And, going with our theory that whoever is behind this is the one personally carrying out the attacks, that narrows our suspect pool down considerably."

It felt like a break, a real break, and for the first time since this case started, Lisbon noticed the first stirrings of the determined hope that reared its head when the puzzle pieces started to fall together.

"Okay," she said. "I'll check that description against the descriptions we got from the night Cho was shot, see if any of them match."

"I'll sort through the rest of our old cases," Cho volunteered.

"Me, too," Jane added. "I feel like we're missing someone obvious."

They got to work, but there was more purpose behind their actions than there had been until now. They had a real suspect, had a plan.

Lisbon was further heartened when two of the original eyewitness accounts seemed to agree, at least when she applied the supposition that they were describing a woman and just didn't know it.

It gave them a direction to start looking in.

Jane met her for lunch in the FBI cafeteria, eyeing the entree selections dubiously. Eventually, he settled for something that might have once been lasagna and she watched him poke at it as she unwrapped her pre-made sandwich.

"I think the FBI and the federal prison system use the same lunch menus," he commented after a bite.

She chuckled. "I'm actually just happy the FBI has a cafeteria at all." That was true. The CBI, for all of its perks, was woefully lacking in that department. It meant she skipped meals less often, even if the food wasn't exactly five stars. She weighed a few pounds more, but the trade off for her well-being was worth it.

"Fair point," Jane said. "At least you're eating less garbage from vending machines. The cafeteria probably saves you a fortune in quarters."

"How is sorting case files going?" she asked.

He gave a little shrug. "I'm not sure. There are certainly potential candidates. We arrested substantially fewer women then men, and there are fewer still who I feel are likely to come after us in a revenge-fueled rage."

She nodded slowly. "How's Cho holding up?"

Jane sighed, stretching his legs out under the table. "For someone who was shot a few days ago, he looks great. He shouldn't be here, obviously, but I doubt telling him to go home would do any good."

A sudden thought occurred to her, and she felt the color drain out of her face. "Oh my God, Jane...what about Rigsby and Van Pelt? They need to know, too!" Especially considering what had happened the last time someone from their past had coming haring at them.

Jane covered one of her hands with his own. "It's all right, Lisbon. For one, whoever is doing this is in Texas, not California. Second, they already know. Fischer contacted them immediately after we found that list of license plates."

She felt slightly better, but still guilty as hell for not thinking of her former colleagues. She'd just been so wrapped up in what was happening - watching Cho bleed in front of her, her newfound relationship with Jane...

God, if she was going to lead this team, she needed to get her head back in the game.

Determinedly, she took a large swallow of coffee.

Jane was watching her face carefully. "Don't be so hard on yourself," he chided gently. "Besides, I honestly don't think they were ever in any sort of danger."

That wasn't the point. Jane knew it as well as she did, though she supposed she appreciated his effort to try and make her feel all right again.

During the afternoon, she re-doubled her efforts and was duly rewarded.

"Got something!" she hissed triumphantly at the door of Fischer's office. The other woman set her pen down and looked up expectantly.

"The suspect descriptions that matched," she started, "the ones from the night Cho was shot...well, I followed up on them. The witnesses say the woman was headed south, so I pulled security and traffic footage for ten blocks. Wylie did something with the recognition software, damned if I know what, really, but we managed to zoom in on people that matched a particular set of requirements."

An eager light began to spark in Fischer's eyes.

"Anyway, long story short," Lisbon went on, "there were a limited number of people out that night in that particular area that were what we were looking for. There's always a chance that we missed our person, of course, but we managed to run facial recognition software on those persons we got a clear view of, and we tracked down the movements of those we couldn't see."

All in all, they had a list of six women. Four of them had names and faces, they had a partial plate number for the fifth, and the sixth they had tracked to a hotel.

It reminded her eerily of their final search for Red John, but she had no intention of cornering all of them and making them show off any potential tattoos.

Not yet, at least.

"Start bringing them in," Fischer said.

"Already on it," Lisbon replied. "I sent agents out as soon as I had names. We're working on the other two suspects, but I'm confident we'll be able to find out who they are before long."

Jane was at her desk when she returned, staring at her computer screen. "None of these women were arrested or convicted by the CBI," he said.

She sighed. "True. Well, at least not under the names they're current using. That doesn't mean they aren't linked to us at all. We just don't know yet."

He raised an eyebrow. "I thought we were working with the assumption the suspect had a personal beef."

"True," she agreed. "But it was just an assumption. And who knows? Maybe one of these women was in love with someone that we arrested. Prison pen pals or something."

It wasn't the strangest scenario she'd ever dealt with. There was just no accounting for some people's tastes. Of course, she herself had fallen in love with a wildly emotionally unavailable man, so perhaps she didn't get to judge.

Then again, her feelings hadn't been completely misplaced. Jane had loved her then, as much as he was capable of, and her certainly loved her now.

He twisted his wedding ring in a gesture of frustration, and she frowned, following the movement. He didn't notice.

She forcefully shook herself out of whatever funk her sleep-deprived brain was working up. This wasn't the time. There was an entire list of things she and Jane needed to talk about, but they were all things that could wait until someone wasn't actively trying to gun them down.

Fifteen minutes later, their first potential suspect was seated in Interrogation Room Number One. It became immediately apparent that the woman had no idea why she was there and was plainly terrified out of her wits.

She left Jane to walk the woman out, trusting him to use his considerable powers of charm to calm her down. Women usually relaxed around him, both because of his good looks and his general attitude. She figured she was the exception to that rule, though she had to admit that she certainly felt better when he was around.

Of course, that could also be because she knew the sorts of tricks he could pull when not properly supervised.

It hit her suddenly that she was going to be responsible for him again, professionally.

Then again, she could always threaten him with a lack of sex if he misbehaved. The problem would be sticking to her word.

The second woman had a chip on her shoulder and some sort of beef with authority, though it turned out to be directed at the Austin PD and not them. Something about unpaid parking tickets and allegedly assaulting an officer. Lisbon believed it - she looked the sort who would take a baseball bat to her ex's car if properly motivated.

The third and fourth women were no help whatsoever. They also had airtight alibis.

Frustrated again, she ran her hands down her face as she watched their last suspect for the day walk towards the elevator. Yes, they still had two more women to speak to, but she was hoping for something, just a hint, to come out of the last several hours of interviews.

That night, she went for a run to blow off steam. She was restricted to the treadmill in her basement. Although she would have preferred to feel the evening breeze, she didn't think wandering the sidewalks at dusk was a great idea with a sniper on the loose.

To her surprise, Jane asked if he could stay even after hearing her plans. She acquiesced without thought, though, happy to have him under the same roof regardless of circumstances.

He was waiting with a bottle of water and a towel as she climbed the stairs on shaking legs. She'd been neglecting her jogging recently, and her body reminder her of that with every step.

She rubbed the back of her neck with the towel, taking a grateful sip of her drink.

Jane was looking at her with a funny expression.

"What?" she asked, breathlessly.

"You look...well, unexpectedly sexy," he told her, eyes now running up and down her body.

She raised a brow. "Jane. I'm a sweaty, disgusting mess."

He smiled agreeably. "True enough, but I'm discovering it's a look a rather like." His hands fell to her hips and she felt the now-familiar jolt his touch caused to slide through her stomach.

She immediately weighed the pros and cons of where this was likely headed. Pro - well, obviously, fabulous sex. Con - she was going to have to wash the sheets. Pro - prolonged time spent wrapped around Jane. Con - she probably smelled.

There had to be room for a compromise somewhere.

She ran her tongue along his bottom lip. "Shower?" she whispered seductively.

"God yes," he breathed back.

In the end, another compromise was made. It seemed like too much work to wait for the shower to watch up, so she ended up on the edge of the counter, arms and legs wrapped around him, the cool granite under her contrasting wickedly with the scorching heat of Jane's body.

She would never get over the way it felt to have his nose buried in her neck after, or the sound of his shaky breathing. For so long, she had dreamt about what Jane the Actual Man would be like, and now she knew.

She kissed his temple, running her fingers down the indentation of his spine, and he snuggled closer.

It was a touch uncomfortable, the position they were in, but she wasn't going to move before he was ready.

He joined her in the shower, and she closed her eyes and sighed in pleasure as he washed her hair, fingers massaging her scalp until she felt tingly all over.

When they were both dried off, she checked and double checked all the windows and doors, even if she rationally knew they would be perfectly safe here tonight. Whoever was after them knew they would be on their guard tonight, and likely to be sleeping very lightly.

It didn't stop her from closing all the curtains firmly and resting her gun on the bedside table.

She deemed herself in charge of their dinner, since Jane had cooked most of their meals lately, and he simply smirked at her as they ate frozen pizza and macaroni and cheese.

"I'm actually surprised you bought this stuff," she told him. "I figured you wouldn't allow it in the house."

"I know it's your comfort food," he teased. "I just hope you don't have to eat it every night."

The sound of the dishwasher humming should have been reassuring, but she was too tense to relax.

She crawled into bed next to Jane, his bare chest under her cheek.

"I love you," she told him quietly.

He took her hand, kissed her fingers. "I love you more."

She very much doubted it, but wasn't in the mood to argue the point.

He held her tighter, and she tried to fall asleep, ensconced in his embrace, heartbeat reassuringly steady.

It would be a long time before she drifted off.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN**: I think someone needs to work some magic and get CBS to release the premiere date for season 7 because I _need_ it.

Right. So, crash helmet alert for the end of this chapter.

Friendly reminder that you can follow me on Twitter (starrynineteen), where there will be much shrieking and pointlessness. Love you guys!

**The Problem With Atonement**

**Chapter Six**

It had been six days since Lisbon had been his. Six days since he gained the right to touch her, to be openly in love with her.

Life had been wild since then, and not all of it in a good way. But this...he ran a hand down her hair, the soft curls wrapping around his fingers. This was perfect.

His favorite part was the intimacy. He had always shared some semblance of it with Lisbon, some trust, some side of himself that he didn't show to anyone else. That was magnified a hundred-fold now.

He could touch and be touched now.

If he wanted, he could rest his head in her lap and she would hold him for as long as he needed. After keeping himself apart for so long, the removal of those barriers was something intense and heady. It was almost frightening, how much he already relied on the feeling of her hands on his skin to make him feel better.

He used to daydream about revenge. Now he was daydreaming about her nose in the crook of his neck, her warm weight in his lap.

And someone wanted to take this all away from him.

Unable to sleep, he'd disentangled himself from Lisbon a few hours before dawn and quietly made tea, catching the kettle a second before it would have whistled.

He settled in at the kitchen table, unbuttoned shirt thrown on against the chill of the night, wondering for the hundredth time what was going to happen next. Habitually, he twisted his wedding ring, then suddenly became aware of what he was doing.

Despite the fact that his marriage had technically ended almost thirteen years ago, he hadn't been anywhere close to ready to let his late wife go. In fact, he had held onto her memory with both hands, a constant reminder of why he slept in dusty attics and denied himself any sort of personal peace.

That was gone. Now he slept in a bed with the woman he loved, had no intention of changing that situation for the next forty years.

He spun the gold band again, the polished metal catching on the light from the fixture over the sink.

He had taken his ring off once before, for his farce of a date with Kim on the island, but he had been no more ready to move on then than he had been for the ten years before. There was only the knowledge that this was probably what he _should_ be doing, rather than what he _wanted_ to do.

Abruptly, he tugged on the band until he was holding it in his other hand. A pale line of skin still showed on his finger and he frowned at it.

Carefully, he sat the ring on the table. It made an unnaturally loud sound, like it was aware of all the weight it had carried through the years.

He felt a little shaky.

What the hell did he do now? Something melodramatic, like pitching the thing into the Gulf? Did he give it to Lisbon? What would she do with it?

Uneasy, he paced the floor until his eyes landed on the small wooden box on the middle shelf of the bookcase. He flipped the lid curiously, smiling affectionately when he recognized his own handwriting. He'd figured she would have kept all of the letters, but it still made him happy to know he was right.

With sudden inspiration, he added his wedding ring to the box. He figured it was as good a place as any. One more reminder of the things that were between them, of things that had never been talked about.

He closed the lid, put the box back on the shelf.

Nerves a little frayed, he found himself drawn to the bedroom, to Lisbon, and he wrapped his arms around her, gratified when she snuggled into him instinctively.

"Are you all right?" she murmured sleepily, and he realized she could feel his tension.

He brushed a kiss to her temple. "Yes," he replied, figuring he wasn't actually lying.

Clearly, she didn't believe him. She propped herself up with one elbow on his chest, studying his face. He had no idea what she saw there, but she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

As keyed up as he was, it took no time for things to escalate, for their clothes to disappear, for their entwined hands to rest above her head as he moved inside of her.

Later, eyes closed, Lisbon curled into his side again, he was visited by the dim idea that he wasn't doing too badly in the bedroom department for a man in his mid-40s that had been sadly out of practice for a decade or so.

Lisbon pressed a kiss over his heart, and he vowed that he would do whatever it took to make her safe, to make them both safe.

It was far passed the time when they deserved happiness.

She noticed his lack of ring as they were eating a quick breakfast before work. She said nothing, just looked at him questioningly. He saw the sharp spike of hope in her eyes, and smiled reassuringly, reaching for her hand a pressing a kiss to the back of it.

They talked about the weather after a second, grasping at normality, but he saw her swipe at her eyes once. He didn't know it meant that much to her, and was almost ashamed he hadn't done this before.

By the time they arrived at work, Lisbon was back in full professional mode, hair knotted firmly at the back of her head, and he tried to follow suit.

Wylie was waiting for them.

"I found the missing woman," he said without preamble. "The one we were tracking by the first letters on her license plate."

Jane took the printed page the younger man was holding out. "The car is a rental, picked up a the DFW airport a week ago." There was a beat of silence, and Jane knew Wylie had something important to say. "Uh, this is a little weird and creepy, but the car is actually registered to you, Lisbon."

Lisbon blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

Wylie hurried to explain. "The woman who rented the car gave your name. She had a driver's license and everything. I called the rental place, and the man working there described the woman as having long dark hair."

"They have security footage, right?" Jane asked.

"Yup," Wylie answered easily. "They wanted to wait for a warrant, but that was sent over a half hour ago, so we should have the tapes any minute."

Lisbon looked very uneasy as she sat at her desk. "That's creepy, Jane," she said flatly.

He nodded. "Yes."

Their eyes held for a moment. "We'll know more when we get the footage," he said evenly. There was little point in worrying until then. He still didn't have to like it.

Abruptly, Lisbon sat next to him on the couch. He shifted until their knees were almost touching.

"Let's run away," he whispered, only half kidding. "I happen to know of a very nice island off the coast of Venezuela."

"Don't tempt me," she replied. "Most of my stuff is still packed."

For about two minutes, he fantasized about what life would be like for them there. It wasn't the first time his mind had travelled this particular path - hell, when he was gone he thought about her so much it was almost ridiculous. Now it was different - now he knew what she looked like under the badge, what her skin tasted like, how it felt when she came undone around him.

Wylie called to them before much longer had passed. He and Lisbon peered over the other man's shoulder as the somewhat grainy footage was queued up.

In a second, they saw the woman in question. There was something familiar about her, but it was difficult to tell what. She seemed very aware of where the camera was, and kept her face deliberately away from it. Jane felt something scratching at the back of his mind, something that would tell him who this person was.

Lisbon was frowning. "Can't we get her face off of a reflective surface or something?"

Wylie shrugged, a little despondently. "We can try, but this isn't an episode of CSI."

"Which is too bad," Jane put it. "That would have meant we could've had this case wrapped up in about forty two minutes." He continued to stare at the image, mental processes working on overdrive as he sifted through memories.

The thing was, he had tried to forget a great deal while on the sun-drenched beaches of South America. While he had focused on Lisbon, on the team, he had left suspects and murder cases far behind. It was making this process harder now.

Cho showed up perhaps a half hour later, moving slower than he had yesterday. Jane figured he had overdone it the day before and was now reaping the consequences. Maybe he could strike a deal - if they solved the case today, Cho would check himself back into the hospital for the next 48 hours.

Lisbon buried herself in the case for the rest of the morning, and he flipped through his memory palace, looking for an irritatingly elusive name and face.

Around noon, Cho caused a distraction by fainting at his desk.

Lisbon was the first to reach him, small hands propping him up, and Jane was properly alarmed to see blood on her palm. He dialed 911 as fast as he could, hoping they would recognize the address of the FBI and would totally disregard the speed limit and laws of physics on their way over.

Cho opened his eyes once, spotted Lisbon, nodded slightly, and them slumped back into unconsciousness.

"I think the idiot popped his stitches," Fischer said, hovering near his elbow.

It took a mere six minutes for them to hear the sirens. Pretty good, taking traffic into consideration.

It seemed like an eternity.

Fischer followed the ambulance in her car, the team having come to the conclusion that there was probably strength in numbers. No one wanted to take the chance of someone showing up while Cho was incapacitated and finishing what they had already started.

Lisbon was properly startled by this turn of events, never having seen Cho this injured before. She stood staring after the ambulance, bottom lip nervously caught in her teeth.

Jane gently rested a hand on her waist, not wanting to push in case she was struggling for composure, but just wanting to let her know he was there if she needed him.

She leaned into him for a moment, and he was grateful that she was letting him take some of her weight, her burdens, if just for a second.

When she straightened, he noticed her hands were shaking, but before he could reach for her, she took a decided step away.

"Can you give me a few minutes?" she asked. "I need to take a walk." Then she smiled ruefully. "I'd ask you to come, but I'd probably wind up crying on your shoulder, literally."

He returned her grin. "I wouldn't mind," he promised.

"I know," she told him. "But I would."

He bent his knees a little so he could properly look into her face. "Teresa," he said quietly, "it's okay to be upset. You don't always have to be so strong."

Her eyes looked suspiciously damp. "I do for this, Jane," she said firmly. "Later, when it's all over, and we're all safe, I promise to have a breakdown in your arms of epic proportions. But right now, I need to focus, and I can't do that if the only thing I want to do is lean on you."

He sighed. Typical Lisbon. Softly, he brushed the back of his knuckles across her cheek. "Be quick," he finally relented. "I know you're a) armed and b) probably pretty safe surrounded by the FBI, but I'm going to compulsively worry until I see you again."

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his jaw. Then she turned, and he looked after her retreating back until she turned the corner around the side of the building.

He figured he knew where she was headed - there was a small courtyard in the back of the building, a favorite spot of many agents for lunch when the weather was cooperative. The FBI had shelled out for some decent landscaping, and there was a small fountain in one corner. If Lisbon was looking for peace, that was her best option.

Of course, knowing where she probably was didn't make him feel any better about her being out of his sight. Perhaps he could cheat a bit.

He re-entered the building, pushed the button on the elevator for the sixth floor. From there, he used the roof-access stairs, despite the multitude of signs informing him this area was off limits.

Carefully, wary of the distance to the ground, he peered over the northwest corner of the building.

And there she was.

If he didn't know her so well, he wouldn't have been able to tell it was her from his vantage point. But he _did_, and he felt his pulse calm.

He had thought she meant everything to him before they had gotten together. It was incredible, how much _more_ she mattered now. He would not survive her loss, that much was certain.

Feeling better now that he knew where, precisely, Lisbon was, he began making his way back downstairs. He bypassed the right floor, feeling the urge to wait outside for her whenever she felt like returning. Surely it wouldn't be much longer now - she wouldn't be able to tear herself away from the case for much more than fifteen minutes.

He waited twenty before he started to re-trace her steps, patently keeping a hold on his disquiet.

As he turned the corner, he saw her just disappearing around the other side, her stiff posture telling him she had likely been crying.

"Damn," he hissed under his breath, jogging slightly to catch up. He was perfectly willing to give her all the time she needed, but drew the line when it came to letting her cry without him there to comfort her.

She was gone when he got around the next bend, the manicured shrubs giving the entire place a secluded air. Maybe she just wanted to take the long way back to the office.

Still, he picked up his pace, starting to feel distinctly uneasy.

Just ahead, he saw the ends of her long hair whip out of his sight.

He stopped dead.

Lisbon had her hair up today. Often, she pulled her hair back from her face when it was down, but never the reverse.

He didn't even have time to turn around before he felt the cold steel of a pistol pressed to the back of his head. His hands raised up on their own accord. Having been held at gunpoint several times in his life, he had no desire to antagonize whoever was within a heartbeat of blowing his brains out.

"Walk," the harsh voice behind him said.

So he did, mind in overdrive again, fervently hoping Lisbon was long gone. He had already come to the realization he couldn't live with her death. He could only wonder if she was going to have to deal with his.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN:** And the villain will be revealed! Look for this story to wrap up in the next couple of chapters. I'll probably be pretty radio-silent for a while after that, at least as far as writing goes.

But...we still have this to get through! Here we go, and thanks for reading!

Oh, and please please please review! *shameless begging*

**The Problem With Atonement**

**Chapter Sev**en

It took Lisbon perhaps a half hour after re-entering the bullpen to begin worrying. She hadn't seen even a glimpse of Jane since she'd sat back at her desk with a fresh cup of coffee and tried to bully her brain into putting all of the pieces together.

True, that wasn't the most unusual thing in the world - Jane tended to wander off for various periods of time - but something felt off about it. It felt almost prideful to admit, but she knew that Jane had seen how upset she was, and would be waiting for her to ensure she would be all right.

His absence had stung a bit at first, but as the minutes ticked by, it started to make her nervous.

No one else had seen him either. Given the circumstances of the morning, that wasn't too surprising. The office had been awash with chaos, and one man wasn't going to stand out.

With a sigh, hoping that she was just being paranoid, she stood, looking hopefully at the doors. No messy blonde curls to be seen.

So she headed to the break room, then to the cafeteria, and then to the small storeroom on the third floor she'd caught him sleeping in once.

No Jane.

Frowning, she leaned against a window in the hallway and tried to call him. It went directly to voicemail, so it was either dead or off. _Or disabled_, her mind helpfully supplied.

She would give him another hour, she decided. It could be that he was out putting a scheme into action. Or, hell, maybe he went to buy them lunch.

With steady fingers, she set the timer on her phone for precisely sixty minutes, then went back to her desk.

Very little got done for the first forty seven minutes.

Then, when it was becoming very evident he wasn't going to pop back in with sandwiches or a suspect, she started making mental lists. She would go to Fischer, then Abbott. No, she would go to Wylie first. He could look through security footage, see if that would give them any clues.

When her phone shrilly informed her that the sixty minutes had come and gone, she made a beeline for the young IT expert.

"I need you to find Jane," she said without preamble, and Wylie's eyes widened. "I don't even know if he's still on the property and his cell is off or dead."

To his credit, he said nothing, just began methodically clicking on his keyboard. Two seconds later, he was queuing footage from the exterior cameras. She saw herself standing with Jane, saw him walk back inside, movements fast and jerky thanks to the fast-forwarding, saw him exit a bit later.

Wylie switched cameras as Jane progressed around the building. He was looking for her, she knew that by the direction he was headed in.

They both watched silently as he moved through the courtyard she had been in just minutes before. He looked like he was following someone. She wasn't sure who- they were just out of the range of vision of the cameras.

Jane apparently knew who they were; she recognized the look on his face. Mingled concern and affection, the way he sometimes looked at...

"Shit," she hissed under her breath.

On the screen, Jane turned the corner and they lost sight of him.

Wylie shook his head even as he tapped buttons. "The only cameras over there are up higher, not pointed towards the ground. He's in a blind spot."

The images flipped, and they were suddenly looking at the front of the building again. "He would have come out here," Wylie said.

Only he didn't.

"Tell Fischer everything that just happened," Lisbon said quickly, standing and practically running for the door.

Naturally, there was no one around the side of the building. However, halfway down the hedgerow, there were signs of the foliage being split and trampled. It was a narrow squeeze, but she pushed herself through, following the likely path Jane had gone.

Ten feet in front of her, there was a road, and she swore again.

It would be easy, so easy for someone to slip in and out.

The sound of running footsteps reached her, and she turned to find both Abbott and Fischer. Wordlessly, she gestured to the street. She knew everyone was drawing the same conclusions she was.

She wanted to scream.

This was not supposed to be happening. She and Jane had waited so long to be together...they were supposed to get their happy ever after.

And now he was gone, and she had no idea where to find him.

The next two hours were a blur. Wylie was running all the security footage he could get his hands on, Abbott was putting out APBs and contacting the local news media, and she and Kim were interviewing anyone who could be a potential witness.

A few agents recalled seeing Jane and a dark haired woman whom they had assumed to be Lisbon.

It was the woman from the footage of the rental car place, she was quite certain of that. What she didn't understand was the motivation. It was a decidedly risky move, coming on to the actual FBI property to abduct a man. Then again, most people felt safe here. They were, after all, surrounded by highly trained federal agents. What sort of idiot would try something?

The answer was the kind of idiot who would also attempt to gun down Cho at a bar, or break into her house.

God, if _only_ they could find out who they were...

One of them men she talked to thought he could probably describe the woman to a sketch artist, having nearly run into her as he was entering the courtyard, and Fischer gratefully made the call.

Wylie stuck his head in to tell them that he hadn't been able to pull a clear picture of their mystery woman's face yet.

"It's like she knows where the cameras are," he told them, frowning.

"She's done her research," Lisbon grudgingly admitted. "I'll give her that."

She took a half hour break as the agent from the Violent Crimes Unit spoke to the sketch artist. However, she discovered almost immediately that idle time was not her friend. Needing to do something, anything, she called Austin Memorial to get an update on Cho, who was thankfully stable.

She made more coffee, but didn't drink it. The adrenaline was doing its job, and she thought if she tried to put something in her stomach she might throw up.

Frustrated, she sat down roughly at her desk and picked up the nearest file from the CBI records, hoping and praying that this time, something would pop, would send up a red flag.

It didn't, and after five minutes she threw Erika Flynn's case file aside, massaging her temples.

There was a rising wave of panic in her chest, and she fought it off. She would be no good to Jane if she was a hysterical mess. He needed her, and she would _not_ let him down.

Fischer appeared in front of her, holding a sketchpad. "Recognize her?" she asked, handing the tablet over. "I know the hair isn't right, but I wondered..."

Eagerly, Lisbon flipped the cover of the book open, sharp eyes scanning the page.

And then the world froze, the background noises fading away.

It couldn't be.

And yet...

There was no mistaking it.

She had seen that face so many times, spoken to the woman in question too often to be anything but certain. It all made sense now, and she nearly heard an audible _click_ as it all fell into place.

"Yes," she heard herself say, "yes, I absolutely know who she is."

**XxXxXxXxX**

Somewhere else, Jane was weighing the odds of making it out alive.

His hands were tied behind his back, and he was starting to lose feeling in his fingers. He didn't think his captor particularly cared.

He couldn't be sure where he was, though he had tried to keep track of the direction they were headed in. Still in Texas, certainly, probably still in Austin.

From what he could see, he was in some sort of vacant office space, much like the place Cho had been shot from. Apparently, it was a favorite sort of spot. The chair he was sitting on was hard, but the gun trained on him made it amazingly easy for him to keep still.

Mostly.

He estimated it had been perhaps four hours since he'd been taken. Lisbon was probably frantic by now, and he felt a pang of regret for causing her pain. Then again, it was comforting to know that she (and the rest of the FBI) were looking for him by now.

They had been right - they weren't dealing with a professional here, and with some time and little luck, it was almost certain someone would find him.

He just hoped he was alive for it.

Across the room, Brenda Shettrick looked unnaturally calm, if you didn't count the crazed gleam in her eyes.

Her red hair, usually groomed and styled when he had last known her, looked unkempt and frizzled. Apparently prison was hard on her.

"So," Jane said, aiming for casual, "what's the plan? If you were just after my death, I'm assuming I'd be dead already."

She smiled, teeth glinting in the dim light. "You always were a smart one, Patrick." There was a moment of silence. Then, "You're right, of course. We're waiting."

"Ah," he replied. "For what? The proper planetary alignment?"

Her smile never wavered. "Why, for Lisbon, of course."

His heart felt cold and he tried to ignore it. "You know, I'm all for seeing more of Lisbon, but you have to be aware that if she shows up, she'll be bringing several SWAT teams with her, and I don't think those guys like to party with murderers."

A muscle twitched in her cheek.

"Well, would-be murderers," he went on. "Still, the intent was the same. I suppose Cho was just lucky you're not a very accomplished marksman. By the same token, you're not very good at breaking and entering, either."

"I admit," she said, "that my skills in those particular areas are lacking. But things worked out in the end. Even you have to admit that."

He did.

She had baited her hook and he had fallen. She'd known precisely where to step into the hedges so get behind him. This had definitely been the most well-played part of her plan so far.

"How do you anticipate getting Lisbon to join us at your little soiree?" he asked, surreptitiously trying to wiggle his fingers.

"Oh, that part's going to be easy," she said, laughing a bit. It was not a happy sound. "I'm going to call her."

The rest wasn't hard to figure out. Brenda would threaten to execute him on the spot if Lisbon brought the police with her. Lisbon wouldn't dare take the chance with his life, and so would arrive alone and unarmed to face whatever the former PR representative of the CBI had in store.

Or, at least, that was what Brenda was banking on.

His best bet, the best thing for all of them, would be for him to escape before this thing could come to that.

"Uh, if you don't mind my asking," he began, "why are we waiting to kill me? Not that I'm complaining," he tacked on, "but I'm just curious. You could call Lisbon either way. I guarantee she'd still want to meet you even if I was dead."

Brenda crossed her legs. "A few reasons," she said, looking quite collected. "First, Agent Lisbon might demand proof of life. I certainly wouldn't hold that against her. I'm not sure I'd believe me, under the circumstances. Second, there's always something so poetic about dying to save someone you love. Not that it'll do any good, of course, but she won't know that."

Jane almost sighed. Typical psychopath plan. No imagination at all.

However, the unoriginality of it all didn't make things easier to get out of.

"Hm," he said noncommittally. "Well, what do we do until then? Chess? Charades? I Spy?"

She smiled again, but said nothing, and he resigned himself.

As soon as he'd realized it was Brenda, everything had made terrifying sense. She wouldn't have been in their case files, having not actually killed anyone. Officially, it had been LaRoche's investigation that had brought her down, so all of her information would be with the Internal Affairs papers.

But she certainly had a proverbial axe to grind. She had lost her life in one fell swoop, and it had been at their hands. All of her power, all of her favors, all of it had gone out the window when she was arrested.

"What are you going to do when you're done here?" he asked, figuring keeping her talking was the most he could do at the moment.

She shrugged, looking unconcerned. "There are people that still owe me favors, people who don't forget their debts. I'll be out of the country first thing in the morning. You know something about that, though, don't you? Care to recommend any places?"

"South America is lovely," he said. "Though I'd suggest countries with non-extradition treaties. It seems to me that the federal authorities will be looking pretty hard for you."

A plan was starting to form in his mind, just the beginnings of it.

"In fact," he went on, "why don't you try my old hideout off the coast of Venezuela? Rooms there go pretty cheap. There's even some local drug lords for you to get involved with. You know all about that, don't you?"

As he had intended, the reference to her last case rankled. Her expression darkened, and he was unprepared for the stinging slap she delivered across his face. For a second, he tasted blood.

Then she stalked out, the door slamming shut in her wake.

"Well," he muttered to himself, "that went better than expected."

Absently, he decided that what they said about red-haired women was true- hot tempered. Grace had shown hints of it at times, as had a few other women he'd known. He could only hope now it would work to his advantage.

Knowing he didn't have a great deal of time, that Brenda would realize he was alone and un-tied down within a minute, not nearly enough time to escape properly, he sprinted for the dusty desk in the corner of the room.

He nearly wept in relief as he twisted to grab the drawer pull with his bound hands. It was a little difficult to open with his hands behind his back, but he managed.

This desk wasn't empty, not even close, and he figured that meant this place hadn't been empty for too long. The top drawer was littered with post-it notes and pencils and other office debris.

And...bingo.

He grabbed for the letter opener, concealing it frantically, then palmed a few paper clips for good measure.

There was no more time to act; he could hear footsteps outside again, and he threw himself back in his chair just as the door banged open once more.

Brenda re-entered the room, gun held in front of her, and he looked steadily back, eyes opened wide. It didn't take a great deal of acting to look worried - there was a huge chance something could go very wrong in the next few hours, leading to his death, or worse, to Lisbon's.

They were dealing with a certifiably crazy woman. He needed to do this very carefully.

Willing some starch into his spine, he quietly set to work on the next part of his plan.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN:** Wow. It's been a while - sorry. Someone come take care of all my responsibilities for a bit. This is the last chapter (yes, really)- no epilogue this time, I'm afraid. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this, and I'll see you guys around!

**The Problem With Atonement**

**Chapter** Eight

She wasn't a very patient person. Lisbon had known this for years, but it had never been driven home to her more then when she was forced to wait to make her next move when it came to finding Jane.

God, this really couldn't be happening, could it?

Brenda hadn't even entered her mind at all. A stupid mistake, she knew that now. And they had all underestimated the woman's thirst for power and vengeance. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Still, they had a name, had a face. And Brenda wasn't a professional - that had been driven home to her repeatedly. She would be found, and found soon. Lisbon could only pray that Jane would still be alive.

She comforted herself with the idea that if Brenda simply wanted Jane to be dead, he would be lying motionless in the FBI courtyard. No, she had some sort of ulterior motive.

Anxiously, she drummed her fingers on her desk. She was on hold with the bank two blocks over. Witnesses had remembered seeing a car going in that direction at a high speed, and she was trying to get the security footage. The warrant was already signed and sent over, so the delay was entirely on the end of the bank. She was considering threatening bodily harm when a harassed sounding manager got back on the line.

"Uh, Agent Lisbon? Yes, sorry for the delay, but our IT guy just started yesterday and he's a little unfamiliar with our systems. From what he tells me, they're somewhat outdated, but he says he's managed to send whatever we have to your tech department." The man sounded middle-aged, pompous. Still, he had given her what she wanted, so she uttered a brief thanks before stalking to Wylie's desk.

He was already queuing footage, and she thanked God that _someone_ knew how to do their job.

Miraculously, it didn't take long. The car was clearly in the shot, and so were the inhabitants. Brenda Shettrick with her fake hair and a calm-looking Jane. Crises never seemed to bother him greatly. This was fortunate, as he seemed to find himself in the middle of a great deal of them.

"Car's headed south," she muttered to herself.

Wylie was already pressing more keys.

"I can follow traffic cameras," he said, frantically typing.

Almost absently, she watched the beige sedan cut across Austin traffic. She remembered to alert everyone of the plate numbers. Perhaps they would get lucky that way.

Wylie sped the footage up as the car continued to travel. Abruptly, it pulled off into a parking garage. Wylie verified the address.

Lisbon was already running for her car.

It couldn't possibly be that simple, could it?

Brenda couldn't be that stupid, could she?

She must've known with the FBI technology that she could be tracked, could be found. It wasn't adding up, but she didn't have the time to sit and think on it for long.

The lights and sirens on her SUV made the drive short, the disembodied computer voice from the GPS directing her to the concrete parking structure.

Wylie called just as she was approaching the now-empty sedan. "This is one of the few ramps in the city that doesn't have working cameras."

Lisbon frowned at the blinking red light on the old-style surveillance equipment in one corner of the ceiling.

It seemed like Wylie was reading her thoughts. "I already called the city. They said the cameras here are all for show while the new security system is put in. Son of a bitch," he continued, echoing her sentiments almost exactly.

Perhaps Brenda wasn't as ignorant as they'd thought.

Quickly, she thought. The sedan's hood was still faintly warm, so they had been here recently. She doubted Jane was a particularly willing hostage, though she knew him well enough to know he would follow directions when his life was at stake. Brenda also knew Jane fairly well, knew how sharp his mind was.

She wouldn't have risked having him walk far, knowing he would always be searching for a mistake.

Lisbon ran for the nearest door. It led to the elevators and the stairwell.

She pushed the button on her phone, and Wylie answered on the second ring.

"What buildings are attached to this parking ramp?" she demanded.

There were approximately three seconds of silence. "Uh, the skywalk on the third floor leads to an office building. Floors one, two, and three are occupied by some financial advisory business. Floor four is an insurance company."

No good, none of it was any good.

"There's a skywalk on level five," he went on. "But nothing is on the fifth floor, not anymore."

Bingo.

"Call in backup," she interrupted. "That's where I'm headed."

Rationally, she knew she should wait. The rest of the FBI and the local police could be no more than ten or fifteen minutes behind her.

But she kept picturing Jane, wounded, bleeding, hoping she could come to his rescue. Pictured Brenda hurting him, killing him, and she swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

The time for waiting was long gone, and she unholstered her weapon as she climbed the stairs to the fifth floor.

**XxXxXxXxX**

Unaware of Lisbon's proximity, Jane was watching Brenda with growing alarm. After she had returned from her small outburst earlier, she had started methodically unpacking bags that she'd had stashed in empty closets around the room.

He wasn't an expert, but he recognized explosives when he saw them.

"Going to take out this whole building?" he asked, mildly pleased that his voice wasn't shaking.

Brenda fixed him with a stare. "Oh, heavens no. Just this floor. I don't have any issues with anyone else here, just you. Well, Lisbon, too, but it isn't time for her to join our party. Soon, though, I promise."

Well, that was terrifically disturbing.

He'd had quite enough experience with explosions. He'd lost his sight in one, once upon a time, had been involved in a few since then, notably in Malibu.

He needed to get out of here, and soon. Well before Lisbon showed up, that was for certain.

As quietly as he could, he slipped the letter opener out of his sleeve. Years and years of sleight-of-hand tricks had given him very nimble and dexterous fingers, something that was immeasurably valuable here.

"Just curious, Brenda," he said cautiously. "How long have you been planning this little escapade?"

She adjusted a charge pack slightly. "Oh, years and years," she said easily. "Since you and Lisbon arrested me, as a matter of fact."

"Did you mean to kill Cho?" he asked, wondering if he would get an answer.

She looked at him again, and the calm in her eyes was unnerving. "Why, yes," she told him, a hint of surprise in her voice. "I did. Unfortunately, I'm not a very good shot. I've practiced, but the real-life experience is a bit different."

"You haven't been very good at any of this," he said, then braced himself for her reaction.

She shrugged. "Perhaps not, but I've managed to get the job done."

"Are you kidding?" he asked. "Cho is still alive, I'm still alive, and Lisbon is going to track you down before too much longer has passed. You haven't done a damn thing right." She didn't reply, but he saw her shoulders stiffen. He pressed the letter opener against the ties that bound his wrists. He needed to work fast.

She slammed a door shut, and he used the noise as cover for his abruptly frantic sawing. He wasn't sure what the next part of his plan was, but it did not involve sitting in this chair, waiting for both himself and the woman he loved to die.

Suddenly, Brenda appeared in front of him again, and he froze. Up close, he could see the toll the years in prison had taken. The lines on her face were harsh, skin a dull gray that could only be caused by lack of light. But her eyes were bright, focused.

"I think it's time we call you beloved Agent Lisbon," she said sweetly. "It's a little earlier than I'd planned, but I've found you're just as annoying as ever. Besides, the sooner I can catch a flight the better."

From behind her back, she procured a roll of duct tape. Tearing off a length, she slapped it across his mouth. He wondered if this could get any more cliche.

He sat perfectly still as she smoothed out the edges of the tape.

She leaned forward just a hair, and he sprang, his forehead cracking against hers. She stumbled back, and he yanked his wrists apart, the binding frayed and torn thanks to the letter opener.

But he had miscalculated how tough she was these days.

Soon, far sooner than he had anticipated, she was steady, flying at him like a woman possessed. Which, he supposed, she was

She hit him squarely, and he fell back, breath knocked out. Her fist connected with his face, once, twice, again.

He had weight on his side, and he used it to his benefit, shoving up and dislodging her. The problem was, he simply couldn't run for the door. She could detonate her explosives before he was clear. And even if he could make it out, he wasn't willing to take the risk that she had made a mistake and the building would be blown to kingdom come.

Brenda was on him again, and he realized her reflexes must have been honed by years of fending off criminals every minute of the day. She wasn't the woman he remembered.

Her thumbs pressed into his eyes, and he yelled, the sound muffled by the tape across his mouth. Blindly, he levered a knee up, and the pressure on his face lessened abruptly.

He was no good in a fist fight, none at all.

He scanned the room, looking for something that would help.

Behind him, Brenda was running, and as he turned, she caught him across the back with an office chair.

He went down, hard. Tasted blood.

The chair came down on his head, and he dimly protested the idea of being beaten to death with an upholstered rolling chair.

He turned, raising one arm to lessen the blow.

Then he swept his legs, catching Brenda by surprise. She fell heavily, and he scrambled, lunging for her hands.

She fought back, elbowing him in the jaw so hard he saw stars.

When his vision cleared, she was free.

And pointing her gun at him with alarmingly steady hands.

"Not how I'd planned this, Patrick," she said, her calm effect ruined somewhat by the blood dripping from her mouth. "But one must always be flexible."

He took a deep breath. Closed his eyes. Purposely thought of Lisbon, of Charlotte and Angela.

Then started when he heard the authorative voice some fifteen feet behind him. "Freeze, you crazy bitch!"

His lids snapped open and he turned his head. Lisbon was standing to the side, breathing heavily, looking like a fierce and avenging angel.

Neither of them had heard her enter, lost in the commotion that had been surrounding them.

In front of him, Brenda smiled, then shrugged resignedly.

He saw her hand move suddenly.

There was the sharp sound of gunfire, and he whirled, praying he wouldn't see a spreading red blotch on the front of Lisbon's shirt.

Instead, she looked...confused?

His head snapped back, and saw Brenda's crumpled form on the hard floors.

Lisbon came forward, leaned over the other woman, and the expression on her face told him everything he needed to know.

He sagged abruptly, and Lisbon ran to his side, small hands carefully tugging the tape from his mouth.

"Jesus, Jane," she hissed. "Are you okay?"

Slowly, slowly, he ran a hand over his face. His skin stung from the tape. When he spoke, his voice seemed to be coming from a long way off. "I'm glad I shaved this morning," he said, then promptly lost consciousness.

When he woke, he became immediately aware that he was in a hospital. A second later, he knew Lisbon was close.

Carefully, he turned his head, noting that it hurt. A great deal.

She was perched on the edge of her chair, worried eyes locked on him.

"Hi," he whispered, or tried to. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

Tenderly, she reached out and brushed his hair from his forehead. "Hi," she murmured back, kissing his temple lightly. "You're in pretty rough shape, but I'm told you'll be just fine in a week or so."

He nodded, them immediately regretted it. The adrenaline had long since worn off, and he felt absolutely every one of his injuries.

But he was alive.

And so was Lisbon.

She ran a hand gently down his face, leaning over him. "I love you," she breathed. "Go back to sleep."

He tried to respond, but the words were lost somewhere. She understood though, he was sure.

Two days later he was discharged, still moving very slowly.

Lisbon was at his side, the same place she had been from the beginning. They hadn't spoken much - just gone over some of the details of what had happened since he was abducted.

"She was a terrible villain," Jane had said once. "She made a much better information leaker."

Lisbon had let out a surprised chuckle, coffee in one hand as she sat on the edge of his bed. "I'm just thankful she was so bad at her new job."

Now, he closed his eyes as he leaned back in her passenger seat, supremely grateful that he was able to do this. He had come close, very close, to losing it all.

Again.

For the first time in an eternity, he felt a sense of homecoming as he walked in Lisbon's front door. Here was where he belonged.

She made him tea while he showered, the hot water and familiar scent of her shampoo relaxing him further. His shoulders sagged.

He had been fighting against the wall of emotion that had been creeping up on him since the first time he'd woken in the hospital. It was over now, the threat to their lives. They could, he could...be happy.

Carefully, he dressed and sat next to Lisbon on the couch, content in the quiet of the house. He sipped his tea in silence, noting she was getting rather good at making it. Years of practice, he supposed.

"Are you all right?" she asked eventually, voice very soft.

"A little sore," he responded, downplaying things a bit. Nothing time wouldn't fix.

Her eyes were concerned. "Can I get you anything?"

He held her gaze, saw the love in it, the desire to make him feel better.

He put his cup down.

"Yes," he said. "There's something I want."

Before she could ask what it was, he took both of her hands, pulling her arms around him as he put his head in her lap.

"Jane?" she questioned.

"This," he told her. "This is what I want."

Lisbon was silent for a moment, then adjusted her hold on him, fingers slipping into his hair. He felt her lips touch the crown of his head as she bent over and he smiled.

He was looking forward to his happily ever after.


End file.
